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MARY BRENT 
WHITESIDE 



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BILL POSSUM 


HIS BOOK 


BY 

MARY BRENT WHITESIDE 
1} 


ILLUSTRATED BY G. P. HAYNES 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two OoDies Received 

MAR I im 

. Copyrigfit Entry ^ 

3^4-. 1“^, HOY 

CLASS <X. XX& No. 


COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR. 


PRESIDENT TAFT 


Asa Modest Memento of His Visit to Atlanta, 


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CONTENTS. 


Chapteb. 

I. Grandfather Possum’s Story. 

II. Uncle Isaac Williams Makes a Dis- 
covery. 

III. Why Grandfather Possum Had a 

Peg Leg. 

IV. The Possum Hunt, and How It 

Ended. 

V. How the Trick of ‘‘Playing Pos- 
sum” Came About. 

VI. Abraham Lincoln Perkins Brings 
News From Atlanta. 

Vn. How Uncle Isaac Made Friends 
With Grandfather Possum. 




Uncle Isaac Sat in the Doorway, Cleaning an Incredibly Rusty Old Gun. (Chapter II.) 



CHAPTEE L 


Geandfathee Possum’s Stoey. 

Oh, sing er song ob de good oP time, 

But I wish dis chicken uz bigger). 

Oh, sing er song ob de good oP time, 

’Fo^ de possum met de nigger. 

Oh, dem uz moughty happy days, happy days, 
happy days; 

Fros^ time come whut a racket us raise; 

Bar on de groun’ de ^simmons lays, 

Dem good oP times in Georgia. 

En now des look whut a fix us in, 

(But I wish dis chicken us bigger), 

En hit ain’t safe now fer ter set en grin, 

Fer de possum’s met de nigger. 

Fros’ still teches de ’simmon tree, ’simmon tree, 
’simmon tree. 

But us all time tu’nin’ eroun’ ter see. 

Is de dawg en de nigger erhuntin’ we, 

Fer times is change’ in Georgia. 

Grandfather Possum, who was singing 
this song, finished the last line, just as he 
helped the youngest of his grandchildren 
to a slice of chicken. He sang it, of course, 
in the possum language, which being trans- 


8 


BILL FOSSVM 


lated into human speech, naturally takes 
the form of negro dialect, for between the 
negro and the possum exists a peculiar 
affinity, which to the white man is unknown 
and unattainable. 

‘‘Ain’t hit al’ays been dis erway?” de- 
manded the youngest grandchild, speaking 
with difficulty, for his mouth was very full ; 
“aint us al’ays been skeered ob dawgs en 
niggers? I ain’t ’member no time w’en 
we all warn’t scootin’ eroun’ en hidin’ fum 
dem critters.” 

“Ez fer dat,” responded Grandfather 
Possum, also speaking with difficulty, for 
his mouth was even fuller than the young 
est grandchild’s, “I ain’t got no ’mem- 
bunce on hit mase’f, but I done been heerd 
about hit fer de longes’. Hit all happen 
’long er one ol’ fool possum erway back 
yon’er ’fo’ de wah. I ’clar I des natch ’ly 
ershame’ ter own up ’bout dat ol’ critter 
bein’ a gran ’daddy ob ourn.” 

“Whut dat ol’ an’mul done?” demanded 
Mrs. Possum, carefully helping herself to a 
drumstick. 

“Wuz ’im we all’s gran ’daddy too?” 


EIS BOOK 


9 


asked the youngest grandchild, who was 
both inquisitive and insistent. 

^‘In co’se, ef ’im uz ma gran ’daddy, he 
uz bleed je ter been yourn. But Lawdy 
mussy, chile, he done had ser menny gre’ts 
in front oh hisse’f, I ain’t got strenk ter 
mention um. Ef de one on ma lef’ des 
lights in en sez ’gre’t free times, en de one 
nex’ ’im tek hit up, en ser on, eroun’, I 
’low yo’all ’ll erbout git in all de gre’ts, 
whut uz in front er dat dar gran ’daddy 
Possum’s name. You, ‘A’ Possum, you 
des tek’n sling out yourn, en so on ’twel hit 
gits to ‘O’ Possum, ’ginst w’ich time, I 
’low, yo’ll done mention’ all de gre’ts dey 
wuz.” 

At this, ‘A’ Possum shouted “Gre’t, 
gre’t, gre’t,” as fast as ever he could, in 
order to lose as little time as possible from 
his dinner. 

‘B’ Possum, who sat next to him, had 
just taken such a large mouthful of 
chicken, that he choked terribly over his 
words, and ‘C’ Possum, who in turn, sat 
on his left, had to pound him violently on 
the back, before he could say, “Gre’t, gre’t, 
gre’t,” himself. 


10 


BILL FOSSVM 


At last, however, it had passed all the 
way around to ‘0^ Possum, who roared 
‘‘Gre% gre% gre%’’ at the very top of 
his voice, right in Grandfather Possum’s 
ear. 

‘‘You ain’t needin’ ter heller dat erway,” 
cried the old gentleman indignantly, “I 
done year yer widout dat.” He had now 
a good opportunity to finish his dinner, 
however, and was ready to go on with his 
story. “Wall, ladies en gem ’men,” he 
began, in an impressive manner that quite 
befitted his reputation as an after dinner 
speaker, “dis hyar ol’ gran ’daddy Possum 
whut I done sot out fer ter susscribe, wuz 
de one whut gun we all dis repertation we 
got oh des natch ’ly bein’ onsensible. Up 
twel dis hyar time whut I gwine spec’fy, de 
niggers en de possums, dey all libs hyar 
erbouts, des ez peacerble ez lambs. Ever’ 
time a nigger come er lopin’ down der 
road, en meet up wid er possum, he stop 
right den en dar en gun axin’ how ’im wuz, 
des ez sosherble lak ez yer please, en ’low 
he hope all Mister Possum’s chillun well 
en prosp ’rous en des kyar on dat erway lak 


ms BOOK 


11 


de possum wuz de bes’ frien^ wbut he eber 
gwine hab. 

‘‘Wall, hit keep on dis erway fer de 
longes’, de nigger en de posmn all de time 
er ’changin’ ‘howdedo,’ en bowin’ en 
scrapin’, en tekin’ on ober one ernudder fit 
ter kill. De possum he go trapusin’ roun’ 
de nigger cabin, en tote erlong a whole 
passel ob sas ’f ras roots, en de nigger he ax 
’im in en gun him a cheer, des ez perlite, 
en ’lows he mought lak a roas ’ ’tater whut 
he des cook. En all de time de nigger’s 
dawg en de possum des set dar en wunk 
dey eye at one ernudder, but ain’t ’change 
no conv’sation whutebber. 

“Dis de way hit go on twel bimeby dar 
come de coldes’ spell er wedder whut folks 
got any ric ’lection on. Lawdy mussy, hit 
got so blizzardy dat de possums all scrouch’ 
deyse’ves up in de holler tree, en dassent 
poke out dey tail, dey dat skeered hit gwine 
git friz. But bimeby dey natch ’ly ’gins ter 
git hongry, en atter w’ile dey gits dat 
empty, twel hit ’pear lak dey gwine starve 
ter deaf. 

“Dis las’ so long twel bimeby dat ol’ 
Gran ’daddy Possum, whut I done men- 


12 


BILL BOSSVM 



tion’, ’low he des ain’t gwine stan’ dis hyar 
biz ’ness no longer; dat he des gwine light 
out en fotch home smnp’n’ feat ef hit de 
las’ ac’, en he gwine git cotch by Jack 
Fros’ in de harg’n. 

‘‘Den all de li’l possums, dey up en sez, 
“Don’ go ’way fum hyar, Gran ’daddy; you 
’bide hyar ’long er we all. Gran ’daddy! 
Dat Jack Fros’ sho’ gwine git you, ef you 
tek en go trab’lin’ eroun’ ternight!” 

“But dat Gran ’daddy Possum, he ain’t 
lis’n ter nut’n’. He ’low dat ’twdx’ gittin’ 
friz ter deaf’ en gittin’ starve’ ter deaf’, 
dar ain’t no more ch’ice dan ’twix’ a blin’ 
mule en a mule whut can’t see. En wid 
dese wuds, he des lit out, en go rackin’ 
eroun’ de woods, huntin’ ’im sump’n’ 
whut’s fitt’n’ fer ter eat, but he ain’t fin’ 
hit. Atter w’ile, do’, he Ian’ ’long side oh 
a nigger cabin, en he dat col’, he ’cide he’ll 
drap in en wa’m hisse’f. 

“Wid dat, he knock on de do’, des ez per- 
lite ez he know how. ‘Please lemme in, 
Mister Nigger,’ he sez, ‘I dat col’ I mos’ 
friz.’ 

“But de nigger he ’tend lak he ain’t year 
’im. 


HIS BOOK 


13 


‘Please sir, lemme in, Mister Nigger,’ 
sez oP Gran ’daddy Possum, ‘I dat col’ I 
des erbout ter drap daid, I is dat.’ 

“Den de nigger he up en ’low, ‘Us ain’t 
got ernuf fire ter wa’m weall by. Mister 
Possum,’ he sez, ‘en us drefful sorry, but 
you ain ’t gwine git in. ’ 

“Den po’ ol’ Gran ’daddy Possum, he ser 
col’ twel he des whimper. ‘Please sir. Mis- 
ter Nigger,’ he sez des ez pitiful lak, ‘please 
sir, gimme li’l hunk ob fat meat, I dat 
empty I mos’ drap daid wid hongriness.’ 

“But de nigger he up en ’low, ‘I ain’t 
got ernough fat meat fer ter fill mase’f 
wid. Mister Possum, ’ he sez, ‘ en you des ez 
well be gwine erbout yer biz ’ness, you had 
dat.’ 

“W’en de nigger sez dem las’ wuds, 01’ 
gran ’daddy Possum git so mad twel he 
can’t skasely see, en he ’low ter hisse’f, 
he’ll des light in en gib dat nigger sech a 
skeer he ain’t soon fergit it. Wid dat, 
whut dat fool possum do, but clam’ up ter 
de top ob dat cabin, twel he gits ter de 
chimbly. Den he ’low he ’ll des holler down 
dat place en perten’ dat hit’s de win’ er- 
talkin’, en hit’ll skeer de niggers so dat 


14 


BILL POSSUM 


dey’ll all tek’n run out’n de do^ en den 
he’ll des lope in en he’p hisse’f. But 
Lawdy mussy, chillun, dat ol’ critter ain’t 
stud’n’ erbout dat dar chimbly bein’ ser 
slip’ry wid ice en sleet, en be dat stiff wid 
col’ twel be right clubfooted.” 

Here Grandfather Possum stopped to 
sigh profoundly over the unhappy fate that 
awaited bis lamented ancestor. ‘‘Wall,” 
be continued presently, “de long en de 
sho’t ob hit wuz, dat be des slip up en go 
baid fust, ‘bumpity, bump, blam, blam,’ 
down dat nigger’s chimbly, en Ian’ in a big 
pot ob water wbut settin’ ober de fire.” 

“Um, um,” interrupted the youngest 
grandchild in a horrified voice, ‘ ‘ dat mus ’- 
er bu’t ’im powful bad. Gran ’daddy.” 

“Hub! bit des cook’ ’im,” was the re- 
sponse, “dat wbut hit done; bit des cook’ 
’im, froo en froo, en dem niggers, dey des 
sot dar en haw, haw, lak dey’s ’enjoyin’ 
deyse’ves mougbt’ly. But bimeby dey 
’gun ter smell sump’n.” 

“Wbut dey smell. Gran ’daddy?” de- 
manded the youngest grandchild, in a tone 
of awe. 

“Dey all smell dat po’ ol’ gran ’daddy ob 


HIS BOOK 


15 


yoTirn, whut done cookV^ returned Grand- 
father Possum in a mournful voice. ‘‘En 
hit ’pear lak dey think he smell moughty 
good.” 

^'Ser dey all des tuck’n lif’ dat pot otf’n 
de fire, en dem niggers squat eroun’ dar on 
de flo’, en ’gun ter tas’e dat po’ ol’ cook’ 
possum. Den dey ain’t was’e no time er 
talkin’. Dey sot dar en dey et en dey et, 
en chaw, en chaw, en sma’k dey mouf, en 
tain’t long ’fo’ dey lick out dat ’ar pot 
twel hit plum clean.” 

^‘En den whut happen nex’?” inquired 
the incorrigible youngest grandchild. 

‘‘Dey ain’t no nex’,” responded Grand- 
father Possum with a groan; “Leas’ wise 
dey warn’t no nex’ wid dat po’ ol’ critter, 
kaze he wuz done et up, en fum dat day 
clean twel dis, de nigger been er layin’ fer 
de possum en er eatin’ ’im ever’ time he 
git a chanst. En dat’s de gawspel truf, des 
lak whut I’m tellin’ you.” 

For a few short moments the youngest 
grandchild was unusually thoughtful, then : 
“Gran ’daddy,” he began in a somewhat 
awe stricken voice, “is dat whut dat ol’ 
bow laig nigger, Unc’ Isaac, want wid you? 


16 


BILL POSSUM 


Is dat how come hm cotch you in a trap, en 
how come you got one less foots den we all? 
Us ain’t nebber heerd erbout des how dat 
happen. ’ ’ 

Grandfather Possum, who was rather 
sensitive on the subject of this affliction, 
scowled severely. Hit’s more’n time chil- 
luns uz in bed,” he declared, ‘^en yo’all 
bettah be trapusin’ home. Dat ol’ nigger 
you mention ain’t lak us eatin’ up de po’l- 
try; dat whut bodderin’ ’im. I heerd he 
done ’quired de repertation ob bein’ a gre’t 
possum ketcher, en I ain’t ’sputin’ hit. 
But ’im ain’t gwine git dis hyar one, en 
dat’s sho’ en sart’n,” he ended in a tone 
that carried conviction. 



HIS BOOK 


17 


CHAPTEE II. 


Uncle Isaac Williams Makes a Discovery. 

Up, nigger, up, fer de sun gittin’ high. 

Up, nigger, up, fer de night’s pass’ by; 

Up, nigger, up, ef de day don’ foteh you, 

Bettah min’ out, fer de oberseer’ll cotch you. 

Up, nigger, up, en run. 

Up, nigger, up, fer de plow done wait, 

En de ol’ gray mule he ’lows you’s late. 

Up, nigger, up, en run. 

Ho, whe-ee, nigger hatter rise at day; 

He rise moughty quick, en he travel moughty fas’, 
Ef he eber gwinter pick in de heabenly fiel’s at las’; 
In de cotton fiel’s ob heaben fer away. 

Up, nigger, up, fer de turkey buzzard fly, 

Down by de branch, en de day am high; 

Up, nigger, up, fer de owl he watch you, 

En ’lows he’ll hoot so de marster’ll cotch you. 

Up, nigger, up, en run. 

Up, nigger, up, ain’t you see dat sun? 

Up, nigger, up, fer de night am done; 

Up, nigger, up, en run. 


18 


BILL POSSUM, 


Ho, whe-ee, nigger hatter rise at day; 

He rise moughty quick, en he travel moughty fas’, 
Ef he aimin’ ter eat possum, up dar in heah’n at las’; 
Up dar some day in heab’n fer away. 


Uncle Isaac Williams, who was in the 
barnyard, feeding the poultry while he 
sang, turned a rueful countenance towards 
the mistress of the house, as she picked her 
way through the long wet grass with care- 
fully lifted skirts. 

^‘Mawnin^ Miss Ellen,’’ he said, un- 
latching the tall gate for her to enter; 
‘^pow’ful fine day fer dis time oh de y’ar, 
hit sho’ am. I ’lowed we’d had a right 
sma’t fros’ befo’ dis, but Lawd, naw’m! 
De ’simmons is dat green yit, dat you das- 
sent tetch um, ’thout you aim ter twis’ yo’ 
mouf up ser’s you can’t onpucker hit in 
less’n a mont’.” 

don’t think it’s the greenness of the 
persimmons that’s troubling you this morn- 
ing, Isaac,” returned the lady severely, 
^^but a different and more serious matter 
altogether. I counted the poultry myself, 
yesterday, and it’s nothing short of aston- 
ishing the way the ducks and young tur- 
keys have disappeared. Something is go- 


EIS BOOK 


19 


ing to have to be done about it, and done 
quickly, too.’’ 

^^Yas’m, I year you. Miss Ellen, I year 
you,” replied the old man, removing his 
shapeless old soft hat, and scratching his 
grizzled head in perplexity. ^‘1 ’low I 
dunno whut you gwineter do, do’; I don’t, 
fer a fac’. Dey done been kunjur’; dat 
whut happen. Dese hyar fowls been kun- 
jured fer sho’. One mawnin’ I come hyar, 
en hit’s two ol’ white ducks dat’s missin’, 
en not a toenail ner a fedder ob um is I dis- 
kiver, en de nex’ mawnin’, I trapus’ eroun’ 
dis place er huntin’ one ob de Runnel’s buff 
cochins, whut’s tuck’n dis-peared, but I 
ain’t foun’ it nowh’ars, en whut’s wuss, it 
ain’t gwineter be foun’, nudder.” 

‘Msaac,” interrupted the lady impa- 
tiently, ‘‘you are talking just like an igno- 
rant old heathen. There’s no such thing 
as ‘kunjuring,’ and the sooner you get over 
such foolish notions, the better off you’ll 
be. It seems to me there’s another buff 
cochin missing this morning,” she con- 
tinued, allowing her gaze to travel rapidly 
over the squawking aggregation of chick- 
ens, ducks, and guinea fowls ; ‘ ‘ the one that 


20 


BILL POSSUM 


Eichard claimed for his, and marked with a 
red string. Have you seen it recently,’^ 

^‘Gawd er mussy,’’ Miss Ellen,’’ pro- 
tested the old negro, ‘‘you got ez sha’p 
eyes ez yo’ ma uster hab back yon’er in 
slav’ry times! Naw’m, I ain’t see dat dar 
chick ’n you spec’fy, nudder. I sho’ ain’t.” 

“I heard,” resumed the lady, after a 
pause, and as if pursuing a new and divert- 
ing line of thought, “that some of you col- 
ored folks entertained your new preacher 
at a big dinner last night?” 

“ ’Fo’ de Lawd, now. Miss Ellen,” ex- 
claimed the old man, divided between ad- 
miration and uneasiness; “dar ain’t nut’n 
happen, worf de breaf it tek ter tell it, but 
whut it gits ter yo’ ears ’fo’ hits a day ol’, 
I reckon! But, honey, we didn’t hab no 
buff cochin las’ night! En’ ef we had er 
sot out ter cotch a buff cochin, we all ain’t 
gwine pick out one jes’ kase it got a raid 
rag on de laig er hit. Dat don’t make it 
tas’e no better dan no yudder; naw’m.” 

“When Mr. Marshall returns, he’s going 
to be very much displeased,” declared the 
mistress, ignoring Uncle Isaac’s protests; 


EIS BOOK 


21 


‘‘and please don^t forget that IVe told you 
this thing is to stop.’’ 

The old man shook his head with a pro- 
found sigh. “Naw’m, I ain’t gwine disre- 
member dat, Miss Ellen. I ’low I’ll des 
natch ’ly lay ’wake oh nights, stud’n’ ’bout 
hit. En dis ol’ nigger ain’t know nuth’n’ 
mo’ ’bout dat chick ’n’ ’n a new bawn babe 
nudder ! ’ ’ 

The mistress vouchsafed no reply to this, 
hut opening the gate, threaded her dainty 
way through the wet grass again, back to 
the house. 

Uncle Isaac, left alone, gave himself over 
to mournful reflections. “Dat ol’ one eye 
nigger ’oman whut lib ober yon’ ’crost de 
crick, is sho got me in a sight er trouble 
wid her kunjurs. Hit ain’t no nigger steal- 
in’ dese hyar critters, en hit ain’t no fox 
stealin’ um, en it ain’t no nuthin’ stealin’ 
um. Hit des a kunjer, dat’s what hit is.” 

The fowls having now been fed to the 
limit of their capacity. Uncle Isaac opened 
the barn door, and choosing a hoe which 
was hanging there, closed the door behind 
him, and passed out at the opposite side, 
where there was an unused bit of ground. 


22 


BILL POSSUM 


which he proposed converting into an early 
onion patch. 

Laying down the hoe, he cleared away 
some briers with his hand, and while doing 
so, a bit of bright color caught his eye. 
‘‘Wall, I ’clar ter goodness, ef hit ain^t a 
raid rag,” he said, stooping to pick it np, 
“en hit ain’t nary nndder raid rag but de 
one dat white chile tie outer dat buff cochin. 
But how come hit layin’ hyar in dese briers, 
dat whut I wanter know, en dat what Miss 
Ellen gwinter be axin’, ’ginst she year 
’bout it. ’ ’ 

While conversing with himself in this 
characteristic fashion, the old negro had 
been exploring the soft ground in the vicin- 
ity of which he had found the tell tale red 
string, and in a few moments was rewarded 
by the discovery of first one chicken foot 
and then another, and presently of some 
bones, which had been carefully buried. 
“Uh, huh,” he told himself, “dis nigger 
done ’skivered all de mortual remains ob 
dis same chicken, en ef I ain’t fell shy on 
my calc’lations, dar’s mo’ yit ter come, 
yassir, dar’s mo’ yit.” 

By this time indeed. Uncle Isaac ap- 


BIS BOOK 


23 


peared to be on the eve of a momentous dis- 
covery, for be was rapidly uncovering an 
extensive funeral mound which appeared 
to contain endless bones, and feathers of 
all colors and descriptions. ^‘Gawd er 
mussy, I done ^skivered a whole chick ’n 
cemingtery, I is dat, en I ’low I ain’t gwine 
drap daid ob ol’ age, ’fore I gits on de trail 
ob de grave digger, nudder. Hi, dar, you 
Ab’ram Linco’n!” he called out, catching 
sight of a young mulatto who was crossing 
through the peach orchard not far away. 
‘^You git a hump on yo’se’f, en lope ’crost 
dat dar cabbage patch, en ’zaminate dese 
hyar tracks. Am dat a dawg track, I ax 
you, er am it not?” he demanded, pointing 
to an intricate network of flat bottom foot- 
prints which led to and from the mound 
where he had unearthed the bones. 

Abraham grinned broadly. ‘‘Naw, dat 
ain’t no dawg track,” he returned prompt- 
ly, ^‘en hit ain’t no rat track, nudder. 


24 


BILL BOSSVU 


Wliar^d you git all dem fodders, Unc’ 
Isaac?’’ 

The old man ignored the question. ^ ‘ Dat 
ain’t no kinder critter’s track, cep’n’ one,” 
he declared, ‘ ‘ en dat critter muster growed 
so fat by now twel he’s moughty nigh 
bustin’. Dat’s a possum track, dat is, en 
hit’s dat oncommon imperdent possum wid 
de peg laig, whut I done been had a ’quaint- 
ance wid f er de longes ’. Ain ’t you see one 
ob dem tracks ain’t no foot track — hit des 
a peg laig track. Lawsy gracious, ef dis 
ol’ nigger ain’t gwinter lay fer dat critter 
sho’!” 

Abraham’s gaze traveled from the pos- 
sum tracks to the pile of bones and feath- 
ers and back to the possum tracks again, 
and his black, beady eyes, fairly bulged 
with awe and wonder. ‘ ‘ Dat ’s a monst ’ous 
big an’mul, Unc’ Isaac,” he observed at 
last, ^‘ef hit’s done et up all de meat whut 
come otf’n dem dar bones. Dat possum 
mus’ be erbout de same size ez er el-phunt. 
Ma mouf des hankers atter er slice off’n 
dat an’mul dis ve’y minute.” 

‘^G’wan ’way fum hyar, nigger,” cried 
the old man indignantly, ‘‘dat’s ma possum 


HIS BOOK 


25 


dat is, en I des natch ^ly ain’t gwine ter tek 
no res’ twel I lays him low, I ain’t dat. 
Dat’s ma possum, en I des hetcher er hale 
er cotton ’ginst a grasshopper, hit’s dat 
same ol’ critter whut I been trailin’ fer de 
longes’. Huh! I reck’n you ’low yo’ll 
stan’ dar stud’n’ ’bout dem tracks twel dey 
tu’ns inter a libe possum, is you? You 
g’wan down ter de big house, Ab’ram Lin- 
co’n, en ax Miss Ellen will she step hyar, 
please ’m? But don’t you tek en gib ’way 
no conf’mation ’cep’n dat. Don’ you daas 
tek’n let on ’bout whut I done ’skivered; 
don’ you dass.” 

Abraham, who stood in considerable awe 
of the old man, turned obediently in the 
direction of the ‘‘big house” to deliver the 
message. Meanwhile, Uncle Isaac seated 
himself complacently beside the mound of 
bones and feathers to cogitate. “Miss 
Ellen’s de jedge en de jury,” he said to 
himself, “en I ’low I’ll git cl’ared ob de 
cha’ge ob chick ’n stealin’, en it ain’t gwine 
ter tek long ter do hit nudder. Ma Lawd ! 
dis ol’ nigger feel er sight better ’n whut he 
feel dis mawnin’, he do dat. En I ’low 


26 


BILL POSSVM 


dar^s goin’ ter be de bigges^ possum bunt 
ternigbt wbut I got any ’membunce on. ’ ^ 
Then as usual when alone, his deep, son- 
orous old voice rose in song ; the triumph- 
ant strains this time of a stirring camp- 
meeting air. 


Jacob, Jacob, he clam^ er ladder, ladder, 

Jacob, Jacob, he clam^ er ladder, ladder, 

Peter ax him whut wuz he atter, atter, 

Chillun ob de Lawd. 

^^Esau, Esau, he soP he cottage, cottage, 

Esau, Esau, he soP he cottage, cottage. 

All fer er lil oP mess er pottage, pottage, 
Chillun ob de Lawd. 

“Pharaoh’s darter went atter roses, roses. 
Pharaoh ^s darter went atter roses, roses, 

Down in de bulrush she foun^ li’l Moses, Moses, 
Chillun ob de Lawd. 

‘^Kise, shine, keep on ter glory, glory, 

Eise, shine, keep on ter glory, glory, 

Eise, shi-i-ne, keep on ter glory, glory, 

Chillun ob de Lawd. 


It was some time before Uncle Isaac ^s 
‘ ‘ Miss Ellen ^ ’ appeared on the scene of the 
old man’s discovery, but when she finally 


HIS BOOK 


27 


did so, he was as completely and frankly 
vindicated as he could wish. More than 
this, the mistress manifested the keenest 
interest in the proposed possum hunt, and 
went so far as to order the old negro to 
ring the farm bell, in the late afternoon, 
and summon the hands to take part in the 
expedition. 

Uncle Isaac was jubilant. While not as 
spry as he had been in his younger days, 
before the rheumatism got in its telling 
work, he was not yet so disabled that a 
night in the woods, with a pack of dogs, and 
the blissful possibility of a possum in the 
branches of every persimmon tree, had lost 
any of its early charm. 

Before the rise of the early moon, half a 
dozen negroes, accompanied by an equal 
number of dogs, and carrying sticks, hatch- 
ets, torches, and nondescript firearms of 
varying degrees of antiquity, were gath- 
ered about Uncle Isaac’s cabin. Uncle 
Isaac himself sat in the doorway cleaning 
an incredibly rusty old gun, while Aunt 
Betsey, his wife, busied herself in the prep- 
aration of an ash cake, ’ginst de oP man 
git hongry ’f o ’ he come home agin. ’ ’ ’ 


28 


BILL POSSUM 


The negroes outside were arguing with 
more or less heat concerning the respec- 
tive merits of the various dogs and their 
proven abilities in ‘ freeing a possum. 
^^Dat oP houn^ dawg yonder wid de scar 
’crost he back, ainT nebber lie yit,’’ de- 
clared Mose Freeman, a short, thick set 
negro, who had acquired the enviable repu- 
tation of being the best banjo player in the 
county. 

^‘Huh! I reckon you disremember dat 
time he went chasin’ hisse’f roun’ er pole 
cat,” scotfed Uncle Isaac, ’spose you 
cl’ar disremembers dat, but I ain’t fergit 
hit, naw sir. It uz des ’bout dis time ob de 
y’ar, en folks uz layin’ by dey fixin’s ’ginst 
Thanksgibin — ’ ’ 

^^Unc’ Isaac,” interrupted Mose hastily, 
^‘us ain’t tek no spechul int’rust ’long er 
pole cats. Us druther hyar ’bout dat time 
de li’l boy whut useter stay ter de Runnel’s 
had ’im a possum hunt in Atlanta.” 

’Fo’ de Lawd, nigger,” protested Ab- 
raham, ^^dey ain’t no possums lib in dat 
place, is dey? I’m gwine dar mase’f come 
Sat ’day, en I ’low I’ll fin’ out fer sho’.” 

^^I ain’t been in dat city since de ’casion 


HIS BOOK 


29 


ob dat possum hunt whut you spec-fy/’ 
mused Uncle Isaac, ^^en daUs gwine on ten 
y’ar. En dat time I lit out en go dar kaze 
de KunnePs brudder-in-law ax hm fer ter 
sen’ a re’l ol’ time nigger up dar, ter he’p 
his li’l boy hab a possum hunt. Huh! dat 
white chile ain’t know dis ol’ nigger tuck’n 
kyar de possums ’long wid hisse’f, en tu’n 
um loose dar. He ’lowed dey des growed 
right dar outside dat town ! ’ ’ Here the old 
man stopped to chuckle i npleased remi- 
niscence. 

^^You ain’t mean you des tuck ’n tu’n 
dem critters loose dar in Atlanta, is you!” 
demanded Abraham, in amazement. ^ ‘ How 
come dey ain’t git erway ’fo’ de li’l boy 
eber sot ’is eyes on um ! ’ ’ 

Uncle Isaac’s chuckle developed into a 
laugh, in which Aunt Betsy joined heartily. 

you’d des ’low dis narrationment ter 
contin’yate hitse’f widout no int ’ruptions, ” 
he resumed presently, ^Hus’ thing you 
know, you’d fin’ out erbout dis hyar pos- 
sum hunt widout ex’cisin’ yo’ mouf axin’ 
erbout hit. He Hub ’nor (dat de li’l boy’s 
paw), done confab ’late wid me, en he sez, 
se zhe: ‘Unc’ Isaac, you take dem pos- 


30 


BILL POSSUM 


sums out ter de woods, en you keep holt 
on um twel des you year we all comin^; 
den you tek^n tu^n um loose, en de li’l 
boy ^11 come erlong en sick ’is dawg on um, 
en we’ll all hab a gen ’wine possum bunt 
right byar out’n dis city. 

^^But I ’low dis byar derangement ain’t 
gwine wu’k, en wbut I do? I des tuck ’n 
s’lec’ me a young bick’ry, en den I slit two 
er de branches wid a big knife, en I tuck 
dem possums out’n de sack wbut I done 
kyar’d um in, en I farsten dey tails in 
dem split limbs wbut I fix’, so’s dey can’t 
git erloose, en dis no sooner bapp’n, den 
’long come de li’l boy en ’is paw, en de 
Kunnel hisse’f. Lawsy gracious, I mos’ 
dislocervate ma jaws er lafiin’ at dat chile! 
He see dem possums, en he feel dat biggity 
twel be mos ’ bus ’ wid pride. En when dey 
done been fotcb’ down wid a rock, be sez, 
H reck’n yo’ eyes ain’t ez good ez mine, 
Unc’ Isaac,’ he sez ; ‘byar you been stan’in’ 
eroun’ fer de longes’, en you ain’t cotch 
sight er dem possums twel I up en shows 
um ter you ! ’ ” 

The other negroes greeted Uncle Isaac’s 
story with hearty and good natured laugh- 


HIS BOOK 


31 


ter, and as the moon was now up and the 
old man’s gun had been cleaned to his sat- 
isfaction, the party started cheerfully down 
the big road to the woods, singing lustily 
as they went, the music in no wise inter- 
fered with by the barking and yelping of 
the dogs: 

Oh, de moon shine bright, 

Wid er lubly light. 

But us ain’t gwine home dat way. 

Oh, de moon shine bright. 

In de middle ob de night. 

But us ain’t gwine home twel day. 

Mister ’Possum he out, 

En he rackin’ erbout. 

But he ain’t gwine home dat way; 

He swing ter de limb, 

En kerblip, kerblim, 

Ev’ey nigger dar tek a shot at ’im, 

En he ain ’t gwine home terday. 

Oh, dat’s a feas’ whut’s fitt’n fer a king; 

Thump away dar on de banjo string, 

Dance, nigger, dance, en sing, nigger, sing, 

De buzzard eye en de pidgin wing. 

Thump away dar on de banjo string. 




32 


BILL POSSUM 


Oh, de rabbit’s outer sight, 

En he sez goodnight. 

But us ain ’t gwine home dat way; 

Oh, de bullfrog’s slid, 

Off de bank en hid. 

But us ain’t gwine home twel day. 

Mister ’Possum he dar. 

In de limbs somewhar. 

But he ain’t gwine home dat way; 

He sets in de top 
Er de tree; kerflop. 

He go w’en you hit ’im, en den he stop. 
But he ain’t gwine home terday. 

Oh, dat’s a feas’ whut’s fitt’n fer a king; 
Thump away dar on de banjo string, 

Dance, nigger, dance, en sing, nigger, sing, 
De buzzard eye en de pidgin wing. 

Thump away dar on de banjo string. 


ms BOOK 


33 


CHAPTER III. 


Why Gkandfathek Possum Had a Peg Leg. 

Dis hy ar ol ’ worl ' am a qu ’ar ol ’ worl ’ ; 

Des git whut comfort you kin, 

■ Ef yo ’ plans goes wrong, ez you trapel erlong. 

Hit's de nigger's tu'n ter grin. 

Dis hyar ol' worl' am a qu'ar ol' worl', 

En hit full ob traps en sin; 

So des keep cl'ar; ef you don’t, den dar 
Ain’t Eut'n ter do but grin. 

Oh, g’wan ter sleep fer yo' mammy please; 

Li'l possum, shet yo' eye, 

En dream erbout er lubly cloud, 

En heaben, bimeby, 

Whar all de trees is 'simmon trees, 

En niggers ain't allowed. 

Dis weary worl’ am a dreary worl’; 

Des git whut comfort you kin, 

En ef things goes wrong, ez you trabel erlong, 

Des b'ar hit all en grin. 

Dis weary worl' am a dreary worl’, 

En hit des jam' full ob sin, 

Ef you fotch up sho't, whar you nebbor ought, 

Des lay right still en grin. 


34 


BILL BOSSVM 


Ef you fin^ yo’se^f in er place betwix’, 

Er dawg en er nigger, yo’re in a fix, 

En dar’s whar trouble begin, 

Eer bofe am sneaky en full ob tricks, 

En dawgs en possums warn^t meant ter mix, 
So des lay still en grin. 

Oh, gVan ter sleep fer yo’ mammy, please; 

Li’l possum, shet yo’ eye, 

En dream erbout er lubly cloud, 

En heaben, bimeby, 

Whar all de trees is ’simmon trees, 

En niggers ain’t allowed. 


Mrs. Possum sang this touching lullaby 
to her young ones in her queer possum 
fashion, which man can know of only 
through his imagination, for he has never 
heard her song, and however inquisitive he 
may be, it is a privilege to which he may 
never aspire. A possum is, indeed, an ani- 
mal, whose speechlessness in the presence 
of any member of the human race, rivals 
the proverbial dumbness of the oyster. But 
who may dare to say that in the seclusion 
of his family life, many tender confidences 
are not exchanged, many noble sentiments 
uttered? Otherwise, how has he acquired 
the philosophy which makes him smile 


when face to face with disaster, the shrewd-' 
ness which informs him unerringly where 
to seek the tenderest young poultry, and 
the wit which prompts him to feign death 
as a means of escape from his arch enemy, 
the dog? 

On the evening following the dinner 
party, when Grandfather Possum related 
for the edification of the youngsters, the 
sad story of the terrible disaster which be- 
fell his lamented ancestor in falling down 
the negroes chimney, the elder children, 
whom the careful Mrs. Possum had not 
already put to sleep, crowded about him 
and begged, child fashion, for another 
story. 

Now Grandfather Possum scented trou- 
ble, for he felt it was only a question of 
time before the continued theft of Mr. 
Marshall’s poultry would be laid at his 
door, and Uncle Isaac, or some of the other 
negroes, would set out in pursuit of the 
rogue. 

‘‘I ain’t know ary story dis time,” he 
replied in answer to their request, ‘‘I’se 
er scentin’ trouble ter night, dat whut, en 


36 


BILL POSSVM 


I got a pow’ful strong idee it ain’t gwine 
be long er cornin’.” 

Then he sighed deeply, but as the 
youngest grandchild was sound asleep 
there was no one to bother him with the 
usual questions, so he took his own time 
about resuming his discourse. 

ain’t know ary s^tory,^^ he continued 
presently, ‘‘but I ’low dis hyar’s de bes’ 
time dar eber gwinter be, fer ter set out’n 
tell yo’ll erbout dat time I run ’ginst dat 
ol’ bow laig nigger, XJnc’ Isaac. I ’cl’ar 
dat’s de contra ’est ol’ cullud pusson eber 
I see. Dar ain’t nut’n dat pleas’ dat ol’ 
man lak gittin’ folks in trouble. How he 
’spec’ us gwine git erlong dis time ob de 
y’ar widout chick ’n meat’s more’n I got 
de ’bility ob tollin’. Whut wid green 
things bein’ skeerce, en nary aig in de bu’d 
nes’s, what us gwine ter do, I ax you, on- 
less dis ol’ possum sot out en fetch home 
some chick ’n meat?” 

“I ’spoz’n us ’ll des git starve’,” replied 
one of the older grandchildren mournfully. 

“Naw, dat ain’t gwine happen,” re- 
turned Grandfather Possum firmly; “I 
ain’t gwine set eroun’ hyar en wait twel 


HIS BOOK 


dat hongriness come erlong. But whut I 
uz sottin’ out fer ter tole yo’ all uz how 
come yo’ gran ’daddy ter run ’crost dat oV 
nigger sech a long time ago dat des when 
hit happ’n, done slip’ ma ’membunce. Hit 
uz des erbout dis time oh de y’ar, ef I ain’t 
fergit, en dey’d done been a pow’ful col’ 
spell ob wedder fer dat season, en dey been 
de turriblest skeerceness ob vittles, eber I 
see. I hunts all eroun’ de groun’ fer sum- 
p’n ter eat, en ain’t see nut’n dar, en I 
tak’n clam’ ever’ tree, cl’ar ter de top limb, 
but I ain’t fin’ hit. En all de time I des 
gittin ’ dat weak en po ’ly twel I ’low dat de 
weasl’est coon whut eber holler, could er 
lick’ yo’ gran ’daddy out, ef dey er sot in’n 
fit one ernudder. 

‘‘Wall, after dis been gwine on er 
moughty long time, I uz des er creepin’ 
eroun’ one night, en dat puny twel I 
couldn’ skasely trabel, when fust thing I 
know, sump’n go ‘snap’, en right den en 
dar dis foot whut ain‘t hyar, is done cotch 
in one ob dem fool traps. I ’low I des dat 
mad I wanter beller, en I pulls dis erway, 
en jerks mase’f dat erway, but I ain’t git 
loose. Den I tek’n study erbout hit fer de 


38 


BILL POSSUM 


longest but I ain’t fin’ out whut I gwine 
do. 

<<Terreckly, ’long come Mister Coon, 
rackin’ eroun’ th’oo de woods lak be look- 
in’ fer sump’n. Time be see yo’ gran’- 
daddy, be fotcb bisse’f up sbo’t, en laff lak 
be gwine bust. 

’Dis ain’t no laffin’ matter,” I squall 
out, so mad I right crazy. 

‘Mebbe bit ain’t en mebbe bit am, 
boilers dat critter; ‘bit all ’pends on de 
p’int ob view, en dat make a sight er dif’- 
funce, Mister Possum, dat make a sight er 
dif ’funce. 

“Erbout dat time, whilst I been stud’n 
erbout how I gwine git out’n dat trap, en 
bow I gwine git eben wid dat aggervatin’ 
critter, I ’gun ter byar a noise off yon’er 
to’ard de big road. Hit keep er cornin’ 
closter en closter, en yo’ gran ’daddy des 
sho’ en sart’n hit ain’t nut’n less’n dat ol’ 
nigger Unc’ Isaac, en dat be done fotcb 
erlong de lowes’ down ol’ boun’ dawg eber 
I see. 

“Den I know dar ain’t nut’n lef’ fer ter 
do, ’cep’n des ter tek’n gnaw dat po’ laig 
off des ’bove de trap jaws, en g’long erbout 


HIS BOOK 


39 


ma biz ’ness without hit. En dat des whut 
I does. 

‘‘En all de time Mister Coon’s des set- 
tin’ dar er laffin’. 

“Wall, time dat ol’ nigger en de houn’ 
dawg gits erlong dar whar de trap sets, I 
done cl’ar, en I des sorter snooks off inter 
er holler tree whut ain’t fer erway, en 
hides. Den I hyar dat ol’ cullud pusson er 
kyar’n on ter hisse’f sorter dis erway: 

“ ‘ Gawdermussy, ef dat fool possum 
ain’t git erloose ! En hyar he laig, whut he 
gnawed off’n hisse’f en done lef’ behime!’ 

Den fust thing I know he cotch sight er 
dat ol’ coon still er sottin’ dar, en hit dat 
da’k ’mongst de branches dat he ’low dat’s 
yo’ gran ’daddy hisse’f, en him en dat 
houn’ dawg des hump deyse’ves, en ’gun 
chasin’ atter dat imperdent ol’ coon; which 
same critter I ain’t nebber see agin!” 

Here Grandfather Possum sighed as 
profoundly as if the probable untimely end 
of the coon were a matter of infinite regret. 

Then again there was silence, for as 
the youngest grandchild was fast asleep, 
there was no one to ask questions. Pres- 
ently, however. Grandfather Possum be- 


40 


BILL POSSVM 


gan muttering something very softly, and 
as if more to himself than to the children, 
and this is what he said: 

“Oh, once uz a time, er fer off time. 

When de critters lib at peace; 

De an’muls all, dey tek’n call 
On one ernudder, en nebber quar’l, 

Fer perliteness nebber cease. 

Fum de big raccoon, ter de man in de moon, 

En ol’ Mister Mockin’ bu’d, singin’ er tune, 

De folks all lib at peace. 

Den dey come er tur’ble change, tur’ble change, 

Des whut happen uz monst ’ous strange, monst ’ous 
strange, 

De critters all, dey tuck’n change. 

Gun fitt’n’ en ’gun yellin’. 

But all erbout, why dey fall out, 

I ain’t set out fer tellin’. 


^‘Oh, once uz er day, er fer off day. 

When de beas’s ez good ez lam’s, 

En de ol’ brown ba’r, he sot ’roun’ hyar, 

Des ez gentle, ercombin’ he ha’r, 

En er singin’ lubly psa’ms. 

Fum Mister Fox, ter de slow ol’ ox, 

En de bullfrog settin’ out dar on de rocks, 

De beas’s ez good ez lam’s. 

Den dey come er tur’ble change, tur’ble change, 

Des whut happen uz monst ’ous strange, monst ’ous 
strange. 


HIS BOOK 


41 


De critters all des tuck’n change, 

’Gun fitt’n’ en ’gun yellin’, 

But de why en de whar, erbout dis hyar, 

I ain’t sot out fer tollin’. 

‘‘Oh, once uz a time, er fer off time, ' 

When de worl’ uz gwine des right. 

Nary bu’d ner beas’ but lib at peace, 

En dey all’s good manners nebber cease, 

Fer dey al’ays uz perlite. 

Fum de sparrer hawk, ter de beas’s dat walk, 

Eroun’ all night en holler en talk, 

Dey swar de worl’ des right. 

Den dey come a tur’ble change, tur’ble change, 

Des whut happen uz monst’ous strange, monst’ous 
strange, 

De critters all des tuck’n change, 

’Gun fitt’n’ en ’gun yellin’. 

But de reason ob dis, yo’ll hat ter miss, 

Kase I ain’t set out fer tollin’.” 


Now old Grandfather Possum had un- 
consciously allowed his voice to rise so 
high before he reached the last stanza, that 
the youngest grandchild awoke and looked 
about him in some astonishment. 

^‘Is you know how come all dat, yo’ own 
se% Gran ’daddy P’ he demanded, sus- 
piciously. 

^‘In de good oP time when I wuz young,” 


42 


BILL POSSUM 


replied Grandfather Possum, ‘‘chillun had 
mo’ ’spect fer de rights oh oP age, den 
w’at dey got now,” which words seemed to 
the young people in no wise to answer the 
youngest grandchild’s question. 

‘‘You ain’t tol’ de chillun yit, erbout how 
come you ter git dat peg laig in place ob de 
one whut you gnaw off en lef’ behime in 
dat trap,” observed Mrs. Possum, after 
scolding the youngest grandchild, and tell- 
ing him to go back to sleep. 

“Dat so,” responded Grandfather Pos- 
sum, nodding his head, “but I sho’ly hopes 
dese chillun ain’t gwine need fer ter I’arn 
how ter ’quire a peg laig dey own se’ves. 
Hit tuck er long time ter git dat contrap- 
tion fix’,” he went on, after devoting a few 
moments to reflection, “but I’m gwine des 
light right in en mek hit ez sho’t ez I kin. 
Fust place I ain’t lak limpin’ eroun’ wid 
one laig less’n eve’y an’mul got er natchel 
bawn right to, but I ain’t know whut ter 
do, twel one day I seen er nigger come 
trab’lin’ erlong, ‘bump, bump, bumpity,’ 
kaze, he two laigs is diff’unt, one ob um 
bein’ all nigger, en de yudder one bein’ all 


HIS BOOK 


43 


wood, which mek um hit de groun^ wid er 
diff’unt kinder noise. 

^^Den I ’low I’ll set right in en rig me 
np some kinder laig lak dat, too, so I des 
projick eroun’ tryin’ fer ter ’skiver whut 
de bes’ kinder wood fer ter mek hit ont’n. 

‘‘Fust I tek’n chaw off er young hick’ry 
shoot, but hit too sof ’, en I ain’t know how 
ter farsten hit. Den I tek’n fetch er piece 
er wil’ cherry wood, but hit ain’t do, nud- 
der. But I des keep on, en atter while I fix’ 
up er laig out’n er piece er wilier tree, but 
dat ain’t tu’n out no bettah’n de res’. 

“Now ’long erhout dis time I ’gun ter 
git sorter onscourage’, en I ain’t know 
whut mo ’ter do. All de an’muls dat lib 
eroun’ dar, dey ’gun to gib dey ’pinions, 
de mos’ ob which is moughty onsensible. 

“01’ Miss Owl, she ricommen’ cuttin’ de 
yudder laigs off, kaze she sez den dis ol’ 
possum be eben all eroun ’, en Mister Spar- 
rer, he tuck’n put in he sass en sez, dat pos- 
sums walk ser humpy anyways dat he ain’t 
see how one laig de less is worf all dis 
rumpus. 

“All de time do’, I des gwine on erbout 


BILL BOSSVM 


4i 


ma biz^ness, en ain’t listen ter dis hyar 
fool’shness. 

‘‘One day, not long atter dis, one ob de 
cbillun nz rackin’ eroun’ de woods some- 
whar, en he git in trouble. Some nigger ’d 
done cook’ hisse’f er mess er vittels out 
dar, en done went off’n lef ’ de fire bu’nin’, 
en er roas’ ’tater erlayin’ in de ashes. En 
whut dat chile done but lope atter dat dar 
yam en fell inter de fire hisse’f. 

“Co’se I des up en fiop right in dar, fer 
ter fotch him out, en den whut you spoz’n 
done happen?” 

The youngest grandchild, who was still 
awake, expressed a total inability to guess, 
and after an impressive pause. Grand- 
father Possum went on with his narrative. 

“Dat fire uz all pile’ up wid de fattes’ 
pine wood eber I see,” he resumed slowly, 
“en de rosin uz drappin’ otf, ’n ser sticky 
dat you des git all mess’ up wid hit ef you 
tech hit.” 

“Is you tech hit. Gran ’daddy,” de- 
manded the irrepressible youngest grand- 
child. 


“I is en I ain’t,” responded Grandfather 
Possum rather ambiguously. “Leas’ ways 



HIS BOOK 


45 


I ain’t aim fer ter tech hit, but I done Ian’ 
on er piece wid ma behime foots, en de 
sticky en’ des fly up en hit yo’ gran ’daddy 
right whar dat laig done been chaw’ off.” 

‘‘Warn’t dat drefful!” cried the young- 
est grandchild; ‘^how yo’ git hit off, Gran’- 
daddy?” 

‘^Lawdy mussy,” cried Grandfather 
Possum, ‘‘I ain’t git hit off er fall, hit des 
whut I want. Hit stick dar good en tight, 
en dar I got er puffick peg laig ! ’ ’ 

The little possums all expressed varying 
degrees of wonder and surprise at the un- 
expected denouement of this story, but be- 
fore the youngest grandchild had com- 
pleted his innumerable questions and com- 
ments, Grandfather Possum assumed a 
listening attitude, and whispered a hurried 
warning. 

knowed dar gwine be trouble ter- 
night,” he declared, ‘‘Unc’ Isaac on de 
wah paf’ agin, dat whut.” 

And then all the possum family sud- 
denly lapsed into the characteristic silence 
in which huntsmen of both races invariably 
find them. 


46 


BILL POSSUM 


CHAPTEE IV. 


The Possum Hunt, and How it Ended. 

01’ Mister Trouble come er trablin’ down de road; 

(Hoi’ up yo’ haid, true belieber) 

Come ’long er groanin’, kaze he totin’ sech er load, 
(Belieber, don’t you nebber git ter doubtin’) 

He up en he ’low dat he got you sho’. 

Per he’ll set down dar right in front ob de do’, 

(But keep on er singin’ en er shoutin’,) 

Den up en ’spon’ dat you happy, do po’, 

En he ain’t need nebber come eroun’ no mo’; 

(Hoi’ up yo’ haid, true belieber.) 

01’ Mister Trouble moughty long en moughty lean, 
(Hoi’ up yo’ haid, true belieber). 

He wush you ebil, kase he des dat mean, 

(Belieber, don’t you nebber quit yo’ trustin’). 
He up and he ’low dat he gwine fer ter stay, 

En you got ter git eroun’ him den in des one way; 

(Fill him up ser full he nigh ter bustin’). 

Den you up en ’spon’ dat befo’ ernudder day. 

He’ll tu’n inter joy, en yo’ll bid him stay; 

(So hoi’ up yo’ haid, true belieber). 


We have already learned that Grand- 


HIS BOOK 


47 


father Possum was quite right in his con- 
jecture that it would not be long before 
Uncle Isaac was on the war path again. 
Indeed the most surprising thing about the 
matter was that the old man had been so 
slow in attributing the theft of the poultry 
to the right source, waiting as he did, until 
the tell-tale tracks behind the barn, proved 
the identity of the culprit beyond all doubt. 

It was a perfect night for the hunt. The 
air was mild and damp, and the moon ap- 
peared, only to vanish again behind a bank 
of yellowish cloud. 

On reaching the woods, the possum hunt- 
ers suddenly stopped singing, and got their 
torches in readiness for use. These were 
nothing more than pine branches, cut with 
a resinous knot at one end, which, when 
lighted, gave forth a bright, though sput- 
tering, light. Their office was a curious 
one, for they were designed, as Uncle 
Isaac would have expressed it, ‘‘to shine 
de possum^ eye.’’ 

Now a possum hunt, though dear to the 
soul of the negro, on account of its substan- 
tial and edible results, is not in itself an 
actually exhilarating affair, the possum be- 



48 


BILL FOSSVM 


ing too slothful and silent a beast to prove 
‘‘game/^ according to the huntsman’s 
usual acceptance of the term. 

reck’n you’se aimin’ at dis bein’ de 
las’ night dat ol’ peg leg possum eber 
gwine see, ain’t you, Unc’ Isaac?” de- 
manded Abraham with a suspicious chuckle 
which suggested that he was cherishing de- 
signs on that particular animal himself. 

‘^Now yo’re talkin’,” assented the old 
man, ^^now you done said sump’n! But I 
’low hit des too had dat you gwine off ter 
Atlanta, en ain’t got nary chanst oh habin’ 
yo’ name in de pot, ’ginst de time me’n 
Betsey up en cook dat feller ! ’ ’ 

aims ter git back a right sma’t time 
’fo’ jedgment day,” responded Abraham, 
‘‘en ef dey ain’t nuth’n happ’n, dat pos- 
sum’ll keep.” 

Before Uncle Isaac had time for any fur- 
ther remarks, the stillness of the woods 
was broken by a sharp cry, followed by 
another and yet another in rapid succes- 
sion. The dogs, with answering barks, set 
off in pursuit of the disturber of the peace, 
and the negroes themselves exchanged 
answering nods and chuckles. 


EIS BOOK 


49 


‘‘OP Mister Coon’s a fighter fum erway 
back,” observed Mose Freeman, “but I 
b’liebe he done met up wid he match.” 

Uncle Isaac, in the meantime, in spite of 
his infirmities, was getting over the ground 
so rapidly that he outdistanced most of the 
younger negroes; reaching the scene of 
conflict second only to little Rastus Sim- 
mons, a diminutive picaninny, whose in- 
credible degree of blackness would have 
taxed the mind of a beholder in search of 
a simile. 

The fight was taking place on the edge 
of a shallow pond, and the contestants were 
a large and furiously angry raccoon, whose 
cries rent the air, and a fat, slow moving- 
possum, who appeared to have the upper 
hand, for his teeth were buried deep in his 
opponent’s shoulder. 

“Sick um, Towse, sick um, sick um, oP 
dawg!” shouted the little pickaninny, 
jumping up and down and clapping his 
hands in an ecstasy of delight. 

Towse promptly obeyed, and a moment 
later, was joined by two other dogs. Uncle 
Isaac appearing just in time to see the pos- 
sum release its hold, and stretching out on 


50 


BILL F08SVM 


its back, assume the deathlike rigidity, and 
the characteristic grin for which it is 
famous. 

The coon, meantime, had plunged back- 
ward into the water with a splash, and was 
swimming madly away, with two of the 
dogs in hot pursuit, while the pickaninny 
had shinned up an adjacent tree, to view 
the whole of the fight from a point of vant- 
age, until the coon and his pursuers dis- 
appeared in the engulfing darkness. 

Uncle Isaac rescued the possum from 
the remaining dog, which after sniffing 
around it suspiciously, was bent on its 
immediate destruction, and fastening its 
tail in one of the forks of the big stick he 
carried, he pursued his way triumphant, 
the possum dangling fat and helpless, with 
its head downward. 

Rastus found himself left suddenly 
alone. Far away he could hear the cries 
of the coon and the dogs, one of the latter 
yelping as if in sudden pain. 

‘‘Year, Towse, year,^’ he cried, filled 
with sudden concern for the safety of his 
own dog; “year, Towse, come erway fum 
dat oP coon, sah! Come erway fum dar I 


EIS BOOK 


51 


done top yon! You ain’t tree no poss ter- 
night; you ain’t worf yo’ bo’d en keep, you 
ain’t dat.” But just here the little dar- 
key’s soliloquy (for such it was, Towse 
being out of earshot) ended suddenly, for 
he found himself staring with frightened 
fascination, into a pair of round, glittering 
eyes, which appeared to be moving toward 
him, up the tree trunk. The night had 
grown darker, all trace of the moon being 
gone, and where once had been only oak 
and hickory trees, sprang forth weird and 
menacing black shapes, while slowly, near- 
er and nearer, came the glittering eyes. 

Pappy, Pappy!” screamed the pica- 
ninny, in an access of terror, ‘^Unc’ Isaac, 
Mose — anybody, dey’s a b’ar atter me! 
Pappy, Pappy, I ’cl’ar hit’s a b’ar! Ain’t 
nobody cornin’! Hit’s a b’ar I done tol’ 
you! Ain’t nobody keer!” 

By this time, Mose who was the nearest 
of the negroes, came running through the 
underbrush, just in time to see Eastus, 
who had ventured to the outer edge of one 
of the limbs, let go his hold, and fall 
shrieking into the pond. 

^‘Ef you dat skeered ob possums, you 


52 


BILL POSSUM 


ain’t better come erlong wid we all no 
mo’,” remarked Mose, pulling the terrified 
youngster, by his heels, out of the shallow, 
muddy water. ‘^Ef you hadn’ er fell in 
lak dis,” he went on; shaking the little 
darkey, like a terrier shakes a rat, ‘‘Mose 
Freeman ’ud er done cotch Isaac’s peg laig 
possum, sho’!” 

“W-W-’at dat you say?” sputtered the 
unfortunate Eastus, gasping for breath: 
“I ain’t seen no possum; I seen a big ol’ 
b’ar! Whar hit go, you reck’n?” he de- 
manded, clutching Mose with two muddy 
fists, and peering cautiously around this 
substantial bulwark. “Dat ol’ b’ar have 
two gre’t big fi’ry eyes, en ’bout seb’n hun- 
d’ed toofs, en ’im crepe ’long sniffin’; ’im 
do,” went on the little picaninny volubly, 
drawing on the fertile resources of a lively 
imagination. 

Mose shook off the wet, muddy encum- 
brance, and relighted his torch, which had 
gone out when he dropped it to rescue the 
frightened little darkey. “You black coon ! 
you dat skeered you ain’t see good,” he 
cried disgustedly; “hyar you run up ’ginst 
dat ol’ poss Miss Ellen ’spectin’ sum er us 


ms BOOK 


53 


ter cotcli, en wid de chanst frontin’ you, 
hyar you des squall out, en tuck’n drap otf 
in de pon’. Whar dat oP possum done 
went! Dat des w’at I ain’t know! But 
dar de tracks ob Unc’ Isaac’s oP chick ’n 
thief, sho’.” And Mose, with lowered 
torch, pointed out to the astonished Eas- 
tus, the unmistakable footprints of Grand- 
father Possum, which led for a short dis- 
tance along the muddy edge of the pond, 
and disappeared. 

‘‘Dat peg laig track ain’t tell no lie,” 
asserted Mose with conviction; “hit mean 
des dat one sneakin’ oP possum, en no 
yudder. ’ ’ 

“I reck’n dat oP b’ar done cotched ’im,” 
suggested Eastus, with ready invention. 
“But whar you s’poz’n de b’ar done went 
hisse’f !” 

Mose, who was engaged in calling his 
dog, paid no attention to the question. 
“Hyar! Tige, hyar! Whoo-oop, Tige, sick 
um, dawg, sick um. You no ’count oP ras- 
cal,” he went on, as the dog appeared, 
“you ain’t tree no possum ternight!” 

Then, to the astonishment of both 
negroes, the dog stationed himself in front 


54 


BILL POSSUM 


of the same tree from which Eastus had 
fallen, his nose lifted, and his whole tense 
body in the characteristic attitude so famil- 
iar to the sportsman. 

The tree was a fairly large one, and 
halfway up the trunk was a hollow of con- 
siderable size. Mose raised his torch and 
peered up into the branches. ain’t see 
nuth’n’,” he said doubtfully, ^‘but dat pos- 
sum des bleedje ter be dar, he am dat, kaze 
dis oP dawg ain’t nebber lie ’bout no pos- 
sum yit. ’ ’ 

‘‘Ump um!” taunted Eastus, ‘‘you done 
fergit Unc’ Isaac say one time he tuck’n 
tree a pole cat ! En dis time he done tree 
a b’ar!” 

“Pole cats ain’t clam’ trees, nigger,” 
retorted Mose. “Hyar, you black coon, 
tek’n shin up dis’n agin, en see is dat oP 
possum er hidin’ hisse’f in dat holler 
trunk. Den us ’ll hab dat mis’ble oP critter 
ter show Miss Ellen, ’stid er Unc’ Isaac 



ms BOOK 


55 


gittin’ ^im. Lawdy, but I ^low be^d eat 
good,’’ he went on to himself. ‘‘He des 
tas’e oh tu’key en chick ’n, en ol’ white 
duck, en — en — guinny, let ’lone habin’ he 
own possum tas’e w’at des natch ’ly his’n! 
Is you ’lowin’ ter des tek’n stan’ hyar all 
de night th’oo, nigger?” he demanded im- 
patiently, as Eastus showed no indication 
to obey his command to climb the tree. 

“I ain’t wan’er see no b’ar, no mo’,” 
he declared obstinately. “I ain’t wan’er 
see no mo’ eyes w’at got fire cornin’ th’oo 
um! Naw, I ain’t wan’er see dem seb’n 
hund’ed toofs, en dat ol’ bris’lin’ hide, 
en — en — dat mouf w’at so beeg twel you 
could des up en jump clean down he 
th’oat.” 

What further details Eastus would have 
added to this picturesque description, it is 
unsafe to say, but at this moment Abraham 
appeared in triumph, carrying his forked 
stick over his shoulder, with a fat possum 
held captive at each end. 

Mose’s eyes lighted with an expression 
of undisguised envy. “Huh! I ain’t know 
how ter hunt ’long er black coons w’at all 
time seein’ things w’at ain’t!” he com- 


o6 


BILL POSSUM 


plained, as if in explanation of his own 
lack of success; ‘‘I gwine ax Brudder Sim- 
mons ter keep dis hyar skeery nigger 
home, endurin’ de nex’ possum hunt, I is 
dat!” 

^‘Mose ’low dey ain’t no b’ar, en I des 
knows dey’s a b’ar, kaze I’se done seed ’im 
wid ma eyes,” protested Rastus indig- 
nantly ; and was about to launch forth into 
another account of this formidable beast, 
when Uncle Isaac rejoined them. 

^‘How long yo’all gwine stay right 
eroun’ dis place?” he demanded; ‘‘hit 
’pear lak you aimin’ ter des fool eroun’ 
hyar en let all de possums come erhuntin’ 
you, Mose Freeman.” 

“Is you see dem tracks!” demanded 
Mose, leading Uncle Isaac to the spot where 
he had already pointed out to Rastus the 
easily recognized footprints of Grand- 
father Possum. 

The old man was all excitement at once. 
“Whar hit go!” he demanded; “ain’t no- 
body cotch sight oh dat ol’ chick ’n stealer 
fall!” His voice betrayed a combination 
of regret at the possum’s escape, and re- 
lief that some other negro had not made 


EIS BOOK 


57 


the capture which he himself was desiring 
so intensely. 

‘‘I gwine cnt dis tree down, dat w’at I 
gwine do,’^ announced Mose suddenly, and 
bringing his ax into requisition, he began 
operations at once. 

Eastus withdrew to a discreet distance, 
where he was sure that when the tree fell, 
and the hollow trunk disgorged the hidden 
‘^b’ar,’^ one of the negroes nearest would 
prove the beast’s victim, and not himself. 

Abraham and his brother ’Bijah, who 
had joined the party a few moments be- 
fore, set to work assisting Mose, while 
Uncle Isaac himself kept a sharp watchout 
for the intended victim. 


you can’t clam’ a tree, des cut hit down, 

Ef you can’t fo’d a crick, des walk eroun’. 

But keep on er trab’lin’, brudder,” 

crooned the old man, to the rhythmical ac- 
companiment of the negroes’ axes: — 

‘^Ef you can’t git chick ’n den po’k’ll do 
En dey plenty ob spring water all y’ar froo. 

So you ain’t need moonshine nudder. 

When you moughty hongry, de hoecake’s prime. 
But possum eat good des any ol’ time. 

So keep on er trab’lin’, brudder.” 


58 


BILL POSSVM 


By this time the tree was almost ready 
to fall, and the cautious Eastus betook him- 
self to a still safer distance. Uncle Isaac, 
however, measured the distance with a 
careful eye, and took his stand as nearly 
as possible at the spot where the hollow 
part of the trunk would lie when the tree 
fell. 

With a resoimding crash it came down 
at last. The dogs made a rush forward 
with wild yelps and barks, for wonder of 
wonders, there on the ground, stitf and 
stark, and apparently as dead as the pro- 
verbial doornail, lay Grandfather Possum 
himself. 

Mose and Abraham and the other ne- 
groes exchanged a glance which expressed 
some doubt as to who was entitled to the 
prize, but there was no question as to who 
would be the leading claimant, for Uncle 
Isaac, with an amazing agility, stepped in, 
called off the dogs, and secured the possum 
for his own. 

‘‘Uh huh! oP poss, I done got you dis 
time,’’ he chuckled in a transport of de- 
light; ‘‘Miss Ellen ’lowed I done got her 


ms BOOK 


59 


chick ’ns, en now I is, en dey warn’t no 
stealin’ ’bout hit nudder!” 

^^Time ter be trab’lin’ home now, nig- 
gers,” declared the old man presently; 
‘‘kaze de king ob de possums done los’ bis 
freedom! Gawdermussy! dis de bes’ pos- 
sum hunt I eber see! I ’c’lar I dat happy 
twel I mos’ bustin’ wid joy; I is dat!” 

Unfortunately, the other negroes failed 
to share Uncle Isaac’s enthusiasm. Abra- 
ham looked sulky, and Mose was openly 
rebellious. ^‘Ma dawg done tree dat pos- 
sum,” he protested, ^^en ma hatchet done 
he’p cut down dat tree, en den how hit up’n 
gotter be yo’ possum, I ain’t know! Who 
dat possum b’long to, niggers?” he de- 
manded of the company at large; ^‘who got 
de fust right I wanter know ? ’ ’ 

reck’n hit’s de one w’at jump in fust 
en grab hit!” returned ’Bijah, not without 
sarcasm. 


Uncle Isaac replied with a derisive laugh. 
‘‘Dis done been ma possum fer de long- 
es ’, ” he snorted ; ‘ ‘ ain ’t I been de cause ob 



60 


BILL POSSUM 


why he peg laigged? Ain’t I ‘skiver’ de 
tracks ’hin’ de barn?” And, as if this 
were the final and irresistible argument: 
“Ain’t Miss Ellen tol’ me herse’f ter come 
out hyar en cotch dis ol’ chick ’n thief? 
Ain’t all dat happen?” 

With these words, Uncle Isaac, in right- 
eous indignation, turned his back on the 
company, and set off toward home, follow- 
ing a different course from that which was 
likely to be chosen by the other negroes. 

Whether his conscience was entirely 
easy, it might, perhaps be unwise to judge, 
but as to his being the very soul of super- 
stition, to whom “signs,” and “ha’nts,” 
and “kunjers,” were as potent realities as 
his own identity, there could be no ques- 
tion. Therefore the accident which befell 
Uncle Isaac on his way home was obviously 
consistent with his character. 

The night had grown darker, and the 
old man’s way led him at times through 
thick underbrush and over fallen trees, and 
again across a marshy stretch where he 
sank to his ankles in the black ooze, and 
where, tradition had it, a mysterious mur- 
der had once occurred. Usually at this 


EIS BOOK 


61 


point Uncle Isaac hastened his steps, but 
tonight he was forgetful of everything ex- 
cept the joy of his capture. 

‘‘Dey ax who dis possum b’long ter!^’ 
he chuckled to himself ; ‘ ‘ des lak dis critter 
I^m er totin’ could er been any yudder 
nigger’s ’cep’n Unc’ Isaac’s! Who hit 
b’long ter? Huh!” 

‘^Tu-whoo! tu-whoo!” came a sudden 
shrill response out of the darkness; ‘Hu- 
whoo-oo-oo! tu-whoo!” 

With a cry of terror, the unfortunate 
darkey leaped into the air, dropping gun, 
torch, and possums. ‘‘ ’Fo’ de Lawd, 
now,” he cried piteously, lighting on his 
feet again, and standing as rigid as if 
turned to stone; ’c’lar dat dis ol’ nig- 
ger’s possum, en no yudder, en I ain’t 
know whedder dis er ’n’er kunjur er 
whut ! ’ ’ 

‘^Tu-whoo, tu-whoo,” came the voice 
again, and at the same moment, a large 
bird flew heavily over Uncle Isaac’s head 
and perched on the limb of an adjacent 
tree. 

‘ ^ Gawdermussy, dat’s a ol’ hawn owl,” 
cried the old man, with chattering teeth; 


62 


BILL P0&8VM 


‘‘dis hyar nigger muster been bawn fer 
trouble, 

With trembling knees Uncle Isaac 
stooped down to rescue his belongings. 

The forked stick still lay where he had 
dropped it, and at one end a possum was 
imprisoned, but at the other end, the 
forked portion had broken off short, and 
the prize, — the king of possums, — had 
made good his escape ! 





Miss Owl Holler Out, “ ’Des Draw Yo^se^f a Leetle Stiffer, Mr. Possum. 




64 


BILL BOSSVM 


CHAPTER V. 

How THE Thick of ‘‘Playing Possum’ 
Came About. 

Worm dat peart, he up en clar, 

He de gre’tes’ thing dat squirm; 

’Long come a sparrer; now den whar 
Am dat onlucky worm? 

Sparrer set on de lowes’ limb; 

’Long come a cat en look at him; 

Sparrer singin’ en nebber see, 

Cat mek a jump, den whar am he? 

Cat so happy, she lay en purr, ’ 

En tek a nap in de sun; 

’Long come a dawg, en he lef’ er her, 

Nuth’n’ er t’all ’cep’ er hunk er fur, 

Befo’ de fight uz done. 

Dawg des brag’s he trabel eroun’, 

En fight eve’y thing in reach; 

Coon come er rackin’ ober de groun’, 

En ’gin ter holler en screech. 

Po’ dawg up, en he fit his bes’. 

But de way hit en’, ain’t hard ter guess. 

Dawg brag no mo’, en he nebber will. 

But de coon kep’ on wid his biz ’ness still. 

Yit soon he huntin’ fer trouble sho’, — 


HIS BOOK 


65 


Mister Possum big en fat, 

Dey bofe pitch in, en nebber mo’. 

Am de beas’ en de bu’ds eroun’ dar know, 
Whar dat ol’ coon am at. 


Possum sot, en he grin erway, — 

He so swell up wid glory, 

Twel a nigger come erlong one day, — 

But dat’s ernudder story. 

you gwine ter tell we all de jud- 
der story, Gran^daddyT’ was the inevi- 
table demand that came from the youngest 
grandchild, immediately after hearing the 
song quoted above. 

Grandfather Possum sighed. ain^t 

goin^ ter do dat,’^ he returned, ‘^kase dey 
re’lly warn^t none. Dey des tuck’n put hit 
in dat song, I reck’n, ter mek hit soun^ 
good.’^ 

The youngest grandchild looked injured. 
^‘Dat des lak tellin’ ’bout ripe ’simmons,” 
he complained, ‘‘en mekin’ um soun’ ser 
good twel yo’ mouf des waterin’ fer a tas’e, 
’fo’ you fin’ out dey' ain’t no ripe ’sim- 
mons, en hit ain’t eben de time er y’ar, 
w’en ’simmons gits ripe. Dat des w’at hit 
lak.” 

“Dat de way wid songs,” returned 


66 


BILL POSSUM 


Grandfather Possum. hit des erbout 

de way wid de worl ^s well/^ he went on 
reflectively. ^‘All de signs pflnt ter one 
thing dat mo s’ lakly gwine happ’n, en 
when de time come eroun’, hit sump’n ditf 
unt all tergedder. Hit des lak de yudder 
night when dat whole pack er dawgs en 
niggers uz er huntin ’ we all. ’ ’ 

heerd de rumpus dey all uz mekin’ 
mase ’f , ’ ’ interrupted the youngster ; ‘ ^ en us 
chillun uz dat skeered twel us tu’n ser coP 
we plum stitf wid coPness.” 

‘^Yit de dawgs ain’t tree yo’ all ez I 
knows on,” returned Grandfather Possum. 
‘^Dey cotch’ two er yo’ mudder’s brudder’s 
chillun ’s cons ’ns, do’, en dey tree yo’ po’ 
oP gran ’daddy hisse’f. Ef hit hadn’ er 
been fer oP Miss Owl, up’n holp’n me out, 
dis possum ’d been wa’min’ hisse’f in oP 
Unc’ Isaac’s pot dis ve’y minute. Dat des 
whar he’d be.” 

^^How come oP Miss Owl ter be all time 
er he ’pin’ you out. Gran ’daddy?” de- 
manded the youngest grandchild. ‘‘How 
come she keer ’bout w’at come er we all?” 

Grandfather Possum gave the prelimi- 
nary sigh which suggested as plainly as 


HIS BOOK 


67 


words that a long and delightful story 
might be expected to follow. “Whut hap- 
pen uz so long ago,’^ he began, ‘‘dat I done 
los^ track er de time w^en all dis hyar come 
erbout. ’ ’ 

‘^You aPays does dat, Gran ’daddy, in- 
terrupted the saucy youngest grandchild; 
‘‘but we all ain’t keer.” 

Grandfather Possum frowned, and Mrs. 
Possum administered a much needed re- 
buke, before the story was resumed. 

“Dat all happ’n ’long eroun’ de time 
w’en de critters uz er libin’ er heap mo’ 
peac’ble den w’at dey is now. Now en 
agin two er de beas’ up’n hadder fight, en 
erbout oust er mont’ er so, dey sta’t up 
some kinder rumpus er n’er, but fer de 
mos’ pa’t, dey gittin’ erlong moughty good. 

“Wall, dey all feelin’ ser peart, kaze hit 
sech a good y’ar fer craps, en vittles dat 
’bundunt, ain’t none er de critters hatter 
go hongry ; dat dey all up, one atter er n’er 
en gib soshubles. 01’ Mister Squir’l he 
sot de ball rollin’, en hit des keep on twel 
hit ’pear lak hit ain’t nebber gwine stop.” 

“W’at kinder soshuble ol’ Mister 


68 


BILL POSSUM 


Squir’l gib?” inquired tbe youngest grand- 
child. 

‘‘Ef you des lemme ’lone,” complained 
Grandfather Possum, ‘‘I ’low I be gittin’ 
erlong a heap mo’ fas’er. Mister Squir’l 
he gib a nut crack ’n’. He done bed hick’ry 
nuts, en walnuts, en chink ’-pins, en chest- 
nuts, en goobers. Eve’y kinder nut dat ol’ 
Mister Squir’l kin lay his ban’s on, he 
done fetch erlong fer dat ar nut crack ’n. 

‘‘Den he up’n ’nvite all de critters, fum 
de ledder wing’ bat, cl’ar ter ol’ Mister 
Cent’pede, en fum Miss Gyarden Snake, 
clean down ter li’l Mister Butterfly. En 
dey all come en dey ’njoyed deyse’ves 
moughty good. But I ’c’lar, ef I ain’t 
hustle erlong a heap mo’ fas’er, I ain’t 
cotch up wid de en’ er dis hyar tale ’fo’ 
daybreak. ’ ’ 

“De nex’ un dat up’n gib sump’n uz ol’ 
Mister Longlaig Grasshooper, en w’at he 
gib uz a re’l ol’ time dance, endurin’ which 
you des tek’n fling yo’se’f eroun’ twel you 
plum foolish. Mister Possum own up he 
right glad w’en dat biz ’ness done wo’ hit- 
se’f out, en he git ter tu’n eroun’ en drag 


HIS BOOK 


69 


hisse’f home, fer he dat tired, he feel lak 
he cPar on jointed. 

‘‘Now de nex’ soshnble dat possum git 
’nvited ter, uz a concu’t, en hit done been 
got up by oP Mister Goggle Eye Bullfrog, 
en sech a goin’ on ain^t nehber been heerd 
eroun’ dem pa^ts befo^ ner sence. De crit- 
ters dey holler en screech en screech en 
holler, twel de Man in de Moon, w^at been 
grinnin’ down on um, look lak he can’t 
stan’ no mo’, so he des hid hisse’f ’hinst 
a cloud, en ain’t show up n’er time dat 
night. 

“Atter dat one an’mul gun one kinder 
doin’s, en n’er an’mul up’n gun er n’er 
kinder doin’s, twel hit des look lak dey 
ain’t nuth’n dem critters ain’t been had. 
Miss Molly Ha’r she tuck’n got up a cake 
walk, en all de folks w’at dar dat night 
mos’ drap daid wid ’sprisement w’en oP 
Mister Slowpoke Mud Tu’tle up’n kyar’d 
otf de prize. 

“Las’, hit happ’n dat mos’ eve’y critter 
dat libin’ anywhar eroun’ dat neighbor- 
hood, is done had sump’n er n’er, — all 
’cep’ oP Miss Owl, en she dat flustered in 
her min’, she ’low she ain’t know w’at ter 


70 


BILL POSSUM 


do, kaze she want her soshuhle ter tu’n out 
a long sight diff ’unt fum all de yudders. 

^‘Den she go eroun’ en ax all her cronies 
fer ter ’sges’ sump’n, en dey all pesters 
dey min’s wid hit, hut dey ain’t think er 
nuth’n. Bimeby she git ter Mister Pos- 
sum. 

‘‘ ^Please, please. Mister Possum,’ she 
baig, ‘can’t you tek’n figger out sump’n 
w’at ain’t lak all de res’ been hadf ’ 

“Now Mister Possum ain’t keer whed- 
der ol’ Miss Hawn Owl hah a soshuhle er 
fall, en he des up’n sez, kinder off ban’, 
‘Whyn’t you gib a fun’ral. Miss Owl?’ he 
sez, des dat erway. 

“Miss Owl ’pear lak she stud’n’ erbout 
dat a while, en den she ’spon’, ‘But I ain’t 
got no co-pse. Mister Possum ! Who gwine 
be de co’pse I ax you? None er ma Men’s 
ain’t daid, en I plum sho’ dey ain’t gwine 
wan ter die, des ter holp fix up dat fun’ral! 
1 des sho’ dey ain’t.’ 

“Now time ol’ Miss Hawn Owl done 
said dem wuds, she sorter ruffle up her 
fedders, en she look dat flusticated dat 
Mister Possum des stretch hisse’f on his 


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71 


back en grin lak he gwine split his mouf 
wide open. 

Soon’s dat happ’n, oP Miss Owl holler 
out, ‘Des draw yo’se’f a leetle hit stiffer, 
Mister Possum,’ she sez, ^des a leetle bit 
stiff er, please sir. Mister Possum.’ 

‘‘Mister Possum he ain’t know w’at 
Miss Hawn Owl atter, but he tuck’n draw 
hisse’f up some mo’, en bimeby she holler 
out, ‘Hat’ll do. Mister Possum! Now you 
des a puffick co’pse,’ she sez. ‘I ’c’lar you 
look lak you been daid mos’ ’bout a mont’, 
dat w’at you do. I ’low I’ll des in en git 
up de bigges ’ fun ’ral folks eber see, en you 
gwine be de co’pse at hit.’ 

“Mister Possum ain’t lak dat er fall, en 
he up’n sez, ‘But I ain’t daid. Miss Owl! 
I ain’t wanter be bury w’en I still got de 
breaf in me ; I ain ’t dat ! ’ 

“Miss Owl she tuck’n study erbout hit 
agin, den she say, ’Us ’ll des bury you wid 
leaves. Mister Possum,’ she sez, ‘us ’ll des 
bury you wid leaves, ’stid er down de 
groun’. Dat ain’t hu’t none. Mister Pos- 
sum, naw sir, dat ain’t hu’t! En I ’c’lar, 
ef you des he’p me out lak dat I ain’t gwine 
nebber fergit hit. I ’low I gwine mek hit 


72 


BILL BOSSVM 


up ter you some time er n^er, en ef I don’ 
mek hit up ter you, Mister Possum, I gwine 
mek hit up ter yo ’ f ambly. Owls lib a long 
time dey does, en dey got a right good 
’membunce, dey is dat ! ’ 

‘‘Now de long en de sho’t er dat ’range- 
ment wuz, dat Mister Possum, gib in en 
’gree dat he’ll ’ten’ ter be de co’pse at Miss 
Hawn Owl’s fun’ral, w’at she gwine git up. 

“Lawdermussy, dat uz a mougbty cur’- 
nus fun’ral, sbo’! De beas’s dat ’stonisb’ 
ter hyar erbout Mister Possum bein’ daid, 
dey des up ’n hustle erlong ober ter ol ’ Miss 
Hawn Owl’s bouse, en dar sbo’ nutf lay 
po’ Mister Possum, des ez still, en dar at 
bis haid uz a bo’quet er flowers, en erlong 
at bis foots uz ernudder bo’quet er flowers. 
En dar in a row sot de mo’ners, en dey 
sing en dey boiler, en some un um mek fool- 
ergies erbout bow po’ Mister Possum done 
de bes’ be could. Den dey tuck’n dey 
kiver’ him up wid leaves lak w’at ol’ Miss 
Hawn Owl done tol’ him dey gwine do, 
en dey all cry en beller, en secb a rumpus, 
you ain’t nebber byar. 

“But bimeby dey sot eroun’ en et dey 
supper, en got ter latfin en kyar’n’ on lak 


EIS BOOK 


7S 


dey clean disremember bow dey des now 
bnry dat po’ oP Mister Possum. 

^Po’ long do^ dey byar sump’n comin^ 
erlong froo de woods. Hit git closter en 
bit git closter, en bit warn’t long ’fo’ dem 
critters tuck’n run en galloped en flew 
ev^ey wbicberway, but Lawdermussy, ef 
dey ain’t cPar fergit dat po’ oP Mister 
Possum, w’at ser kivered up wid leaves 
twel be ain’t byar nutb’n. 

^‘Fust thing be know sump’n done bauP 
otf en gib bim a kick in de side, den de 
leaves ’gun ter drap off’n bim, so be kin 
byar w’at bapp’n, en a voice sez, ‘Hyar’s 
a possum all kivered up wid leaves. ’ 

^‘Den dat po’ oP Mister Possum be know 
dat bit’s men’s talkin’, en be dat skeered 
twel be des lay right still en ain’t move. 

‘‘But bimeby ernudder voice sez, ‘Come 
on erway fum dar, ain’t you see dat oP 
critter is done daid?’ 

“En de fust one be ’spon’ ‘Dat’s des 
w’at I done foun’ out mase’f. He des 
erbout ez daid ez a critter eber gwine git.’ 
En wid dat dey bofe laff en des g’wan 
erbout dey biz ’ness. 

“Soon’s dey’s outer sight. Mister Pos- 


74 


BILL POSSUM 


sum git up, en trabel er long home, en he 
^low ter hisse’f dat he done ^skivered a 
trick w’at gwine ter do him moughty heap 
er good^s long’s he lib. En de possum 
fambly been a playin’ dat se’f same trick 
on dey en’mies eber sence.” 

^‘Dat all you aim ter tell w6 all, Gran’- 
daddy?” demanded the youngest grand- 
child, the moment Grandfather Possum 
had finished. 

‘‘Some chilluns ain’t eber know w’en dey 
had ernuff,” was the reply. “Hyar you 
done heerd two stories roll’ tergedder, en 
you ax fer mo’! You done heerd why ol’ 
Miss Hawn Owl’s ser raidy ter do yo’ 
gran ’daddy a good tu’n, en you done heerd 
how come we all ter larn how ter ’ten’ lak 
we done daid, which same, bofe de white 
man en de nigger is atter callin’ ‘playin’ 
possum.’ ” 


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75 


CHAPTER VI. 


Abkaham Lincoln Perkins Beings News 
From Atlanta. 


Oh, de watermelon grow, big en ripe dar on de vine, 

En de nigger ^low do’ po’, dat he libin’ moughty fine. 

But who’s agwine ter he’p ma soul, when I years 
dat trumpet blow, 

En Gab’rel he’s a waitin’ dar on de fer off heab- 
’nly sho’? 

I’se er trab’lin’ ’long er de glory road, 

De glory road, 

De glory road, 

I’se er trab’lin’ ’long er de glory road, 

Er waitin’ twel dat trumpet blow. 

Oh, de possum done been cotch, en he moughty fat 
en fine, 

En de ’taters done been fetch fum de sweet pertater 
vine. 

But who’s a gwine ter he’p ma soul, when I’se 
er trab’lin’ home, 

En whut’s a nigger gwine fer do, when de jedg* 
ment come? 


76 


BILL POSSUM 


I’se er trab’lin’ ^long er de glory road, 
De glory road, 

De glory road, 

I’se er trab’lin’ ’long er de glory road, 
Er waitin’ twel de jedgement come. 


Oh, de possum look ser good, des er layin’ on de she’f, 
Twel hit ’pears lak ef he could, dat he’d up en tas’e 
hisse ’f . 

But what a nigger gwine ter do when de trouble 
done begin, 

En all de folks whut daid is riz out’n de groun’ 
agin? 

Oh, my Lord, whut a nigger gwine do, 

Whut he gwine do, 

Whut he gwine do. 

Oh, my Lord, whut a nigger gwine do. 

When de trouble done begin? 

There were several more verses to this 
song, but Uncle Isaac, who was singing it, 
stopped suddenly on the appearance of 
Brother Simmons, who dropped in for a 
few moments to pass the time of day. 

^‘Ebenin!’ Brudder Simmons, des he^p 
yo’seT ter a cheer, en set right down by 
me by de fire,’^ cried the old man hospi- 
tably; ‘‘I ’low hit gwine sot in col’ ’fo’ 
night, kaze de win’ cornin’ fum de norf 
wes’, en col’ wedder ain’t good fer dese 


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77 


hyar oP joints. Howsomebber, I des 
g’long erbout ma biz^ness, en ’ten^ I feelin^ 
happy, whutebber come. ’ ’ 

‘‘Dat^s de Christen spirit, dat is, Bmd- 
der Isaac, returned the preacher approv- 
ingly; des return’ fum de distracted 
meetin’ ober ter Norcross, en dar I see a 
po ’, ’flicted soul, w ’at nigh bent double wid 
dis year neuralysis, ’long wid de presump- 
tion, en de skyanticus, yit dar he wuz, 
thankin’ de Lord A ’mighty dat he libin’, 
en j’inin’ in de singin’ en de shoutin’ des 
ez loud ez de res’. You ain’t dat bad off, 
brudder; leas’ ways you ain’t yit, do’ dey 
ain’t none ob us know w’at triberla- 
tions is cornin’. I ’low you been feelin’ 
right low in yo’ min’ eber sence dat ol’ peg- 
laig possum ’scape out’n yo’ ban’s, back 
’long erbout Thanksgibin’. Dat wuz a 
jedgment, brudder, en twel you done ’less 
en repent ob yo’ da’kes’ sins, dar ain’t 
gwine be no res ’ ! ” 

^^Amen,” responded Uncle Isaac with a 
groan, ‘^I knows all dat, en I got ez cl’ar 
a conscious ez a lam. I is, fer a fac’, Brud- 
der Simmons, so he’p me, Jesus, ef I ain’t 
speak de Gawd’s truf !” 


78 


BILL P08SVM 



At this moment the unexpected entrance 
of Abraham, put an end to what might 
otherwise have been an interminable dis- 
cussion. 

‘ ‘ Gawdermussy, nigger, is you done git 
back already? was Uncle Isaac ^s some- 
what superfluous greeting, and in a totally 
changed tone of voice. ‘ ‘ Hyar I done been 
pestered in ma haid, stud’n’ erbout whed- 
der you^d come trapusin^ erlong wid a ban^ 
wagon follerin^ you, er whedder you’d 
mos’ lakly ’nounce yo’se’f wid a screech 
off ’n on er dese hyar new f angle’ water-on- 
wheels, lak whut I see one day at Nor- 
cross.” 

“Wall, I ain’t done nary one,” returned 
Abraham with a self conscious grin, and 
stopping squarely in front of the old man 
to allow him a closer view of the multi- 
colored glories of his new “city” clothes. 
“I done return’ sorter sudden lak on a job 
fer de new president, en I gwine right back. 

“De Lord year him!” ejaculated both 
Uncle Isaac and Brother Simmons, incred- 
ulously. 

“Hit’s a long story, do’,” continued 
Abraham with an elaborate affectation of 


HIS BOOK 


79 


carelessness, ^^en I des gotter tek ma time 
er gittin^ ter hit. In de fust place, Unc^ 
Isaac, I lef ^ dat vehicle you mention at de 
garridge fer repairs. Hit done run so fas’ 
dat hit busted de behime wheels off hit- 
se’f.” 

‘‘You lef’ hit whar?” demanded Uncle 
Isaac, opening his eyes very wide, and giv- 
ing an incredulous sniff. “Does you mean 
ter c’nvey de intelligence dat you is done 
lef’ dat veh’cle in de garbage?” 

Abraham’s smile became frankly con- 
descending. The change wrought in him 
by a few weeks sojourn in the city was 
amazing, but characteristic of his genera- 
tion. “Dat’s de place whar dey keeps orti- 
mobiles,” he returned suavely,” “dat’s a 
ortimobile stable. Lawsy, Unc’ Isaac, I 
been in Atlanta mos’ two monts, en I 
reck’n I ain’t got much mo’ ter larn!” 

“Huh! dat’s whar dey gits dat pow’ful 
rank smell den; I done been pestered er- 
bout dat, wond’rin’ whar on dis y’arth hit 
come fum.” 

Abraham laughed outright. 

“You quit dat laffin’, nigger,” snorted 
the old man, “en you quit hit quick. Dar’s 


80 


BILL POSSUM 


a time ter laff en dar ’s a time ter cry, en ef 
you keeps up sech a kerflumptiousness, dat 
laff’ll git twisted ^roun^ de yudder side er 
yo’ mouf twel hit don’t look lak a laff no 
mo’. Whut de Good Book say ’bout de 
’spectableness ob ol’ age, bub? You tell 
me dat?” 

^‘Amen, brudder, amen,” responded 
Brother Simmons, rocking himself to and 
fro. 

Abraham sobered immediately. wuz 
des laffin’ ’bout sump’n’ I see in Atlanta,” 
he returned soothingly. Bar’s some 
moughty high faintin’ doin’ s goin’ on in 
dat town; dey sho’ is. I reck’n dey ain’t 
no beatener place any whars. ’ ’ 

‘^Mebbe dey ain’t en mebbe dey is; I 
ain’t tellin’ you,” declared Uncle Isaac, 
^‘but I hyar tell dat New Yo’k is a sight 
bigger. ’ ’ 

‘‘Uh, hu-h, but I ain’t seen New Yo’k,” 
asserted Abraham in a tone which sug- 
gested that an optical demonstration would 
be necessary to convince him, ‘‘I ain’t seen 
dat place, en I has seen Atlanta. ’ ’ 

By this time the news of Abraham’s ar- 
rival had traveled by some mysterious 


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81 


means up and down the big road to the ad- 
jacent fields and cabins, and presently 
other negroes came in to hear the news. 

Abraham’s self esteem grew with each 
accession to the ranks of his auditors. 
reck’n hit ain’t goin’ ter take no less’n a 
mont’ ter tell you all eve ’y thing I seen in 
dat city, en I ain’t got no mont’ ter do hit. 
But I ’low I’ll des pitch right in en relate 
dat ’sperience whut I had w’en I went ter 
de flea-ater. Bat’s a place whar dey does 
play actin’,” he explained, with a lofty 
glance at the somewhat awed and puzzled 
faces of the group surrounding him. 

‘‘Umph! I been heerd erbout dat play 
actin’,” asserted Minerva White with a 
knowing toss of her head; ‘‘a white lady 
comes a runnin’ out all dress’ up in pa’ty 
clo’es, en twis’s herse’f eroun’ en hollers 
out, ‘Oh, whar is ma lubber, is he done 
kilt ? Is he done got sawed up wid a saw ? ’ ’ 

Abraham looked indulgently at Minerva, 
who was the belle of the neighborhood, but 
shook his head firmly. “Bis hyar warn’t 
dat erway er fall,” he said gently; “hit 
warn’t no wise lak dat.” 

“Bey ain’t no good come ter true be- 


82 


BILL POSSUM 


liebers out er dat dar same kinder vain 
glorionsness, ’ ’ observed Brother Simmons 
with solemnity; ‘‘de debbil don^t ax 
nuth^n’ better dan layin’ in wait fer cullud 
pussons whut ain’t got no mo’ consump- 
tiousness dan ter run eroun’ erlong er dis 
hyar play actin’.” 

Abraham’s demeanor was respectful, but 
still firm. ‘‘Brudder Simmons,” he said 
impressively, ^^dis flea-ater whut I’m fixin’ 
ter tell you all erbout, wuz des lak heaben 
gwine be. Hit des e’zac’ly lak dat good 
country. ’ ’ 

^^How you mek dat out, nigger!” de- 
manded the preacher and Uncle Isaac in 
the same breath, the latter with an aggres- 
sive and characteristic snort. 

Hit’s des dis erway; all de po’ folks 
is got de high seats, en all de rich uns is 
settin’ down des ez low en flat ez a pan- 
cake, dat’s how,” explained Abraham in- 
geniously; ^^dat’s des lak hit gwine ter be 
up dar. W’en I went ter see dat play 
actin’, I clam’ en clam’ en clam’ twel I 
mos’ los’ ma breaf, ’fo’ I gits ter de place 
whar I gwine ter set down. But, ’fo’ de 


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83 


Lawd, w’en I does git dar, hit des de mos’ 
scrumptious lookin’ ed’fice I eber see.” 

^^Oh, go ’long ’bout yo’ ed’fice, Ab’ram 
Perkins,” cried Minerva scornfully, ‘‘en 
tell we all ’bout de play actin’ ; dat wbut us 
waitin’ fer.” 

‘‘Wall den,” resumed Abraham obedi- 
ently, “I seen a distraction dat dey des’g- 
nates ez a common wropper. I disremem- 
ber des ‘zac’ly wbut de yudder name dey 
call bit, but bit wuz a common wropper fer 
sbo ” 

“Hub! dat clean knocks out ma canfab- 
erlations on de subjick,” cried Uncle Isaac. 
“I ain’t see wbut no kinder wroppers is 
got ter do ’long side er play actin’. You 
ain’t mean dese byar baggified contrap- 
tions wbut de white ladies w’ar w’en dey 
ain’t ’spectin’ comp’ny, is you?” 

Abraham’s laugh was a masterly combi- 
nation of scorn and righteous indignation. 
“Dat ain’t w’at I say,” he returned, “en 
I mos’ gin ’rally sez w’at I’m ’scussin’ ’stid 
er sump’n’ else on ernudder all tergedder. 
Dis byar wropper des bus’ right out in 
music de fust thing, en bit bus’ ser loud 
twel de front wall er dat flea-ater ’gun ter 


84 


BILL BOSSVM 


sliin up de a’r lak a possum clampin’ a ’sim- 
mon tree, en dar wuz a whole passel er 
white gals runnin’ ’roun’ an’ ’roun’ lak 
dey los’ sump’n. 

‘‘At fust dey all holler out sorter 
skeered, but himeby dey fetch up sho’t, en 
’gun singin’ sump’n’ ’bout de ‘honey 
baby’ en de ‘moonshine,’ den dey kyar 
on en rampus eroun’ lak dey tak’n hit 
kinder ha’d, yit I ain’t mek out whedder 
dey’s spec’fyin’ dis hyar co’n licker er 
sump ’n else whutebber. ’ ’ 

“ Gawdermussy, nigger, g’wan ’way fum 
year!” cried Uncle Isaac indignantly, 
“ain’t you know dis year’s a prohibition 
set’munt, en de Gub’nor ob dis State ain’t 
’low de po’ white trash ter keep up sech 
sinful kyar’n’s on ez moonshine’?” 

“Naw, I ain’t know nuth’n’ ’bout dat,” 
returned Abraham rather sulkily, ‘ ‘ ’cep ’ I 
ain’t res’ dis hyar right eye ob mine on 
nary drap ob dat dar co’n licker sence de 
night ’fo’ Chris ’mus, wuz a y’ar ago.” 

“Git a hump on yo’se’f, Ab’ram Per- 
kins,” admonished Minerva, shrilly; “we 
all ain’t heerd much erbout dat play actin’ 
yit. Dat ain’t all dey done, I reckon?” 


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85 


‘ ‘ ’Fo ’ de Lawd, how I gwine tell you all 
’bout no play actin’ ef yer all time gittin’ 
me het up ’bout dat licker w’at don’t be?” 
demanded Abraham plaintively. cl’ar 
disremembers whar I done got. Dat com- 
mon wropper wuz a moughty oncommon 
peart show, do’ — hit wuz dat. 

^^Atter while de gals goes switchin’ off, 
en I ’low dat thing done en’ fer sho’, but 
’fo’ de Lawd, hyar come sech a rippin’ en 
a snortin’ en a growlin’, I ’low I mus’ er 
got mix’ up wid a circus outfit by ac’dunt, 
en den dey tu’n de lights plum out, en a 
man w’at sittin’ ’side er me sez, sez he, 
‘Hyar come de teddy b’ars.’ Lawd, ef I 
don’t fling bofe ma foots up in de a’r lak 
I gwine git froo de roof, sho’, en den dat 
man he grab ma coattails, en he bus’ out 
in de bigges’ ‘haw haw’ eber I hyar, en he 
sez, sez he, ‘You id jit, dis is> a scan’lous 
p’rformance of yourn !’ sez he. ‘Dese ain’t 
no sho’ nuff b’ars; dese is play b’ars, w’at 
is name’ atter de Presingdent, dat w’at dey 


86 


BILL POSSUM 


is.’ En den I larn dat dem critters is des 
folks wrop’ up in some sorter furry hide 
w’at look lak re’l b’ar skin fer sho’. Den 
de teddy b’ars tuck’n fling deyseVes er- 
bout, en cavort ’roun’ dat place, en dey 
sing a chune wid wuds dat go sorter dis 
erway : 

’De teddy b’ar be gwine ter git right 
lonesome, lonesome. 

Git right lonesome, lonesome, lone- 
some — ’ ” 

Minerva interrupted this thrilling recital 
with an audible giggle. ‘‘Dat’s de plum 
lonesomes’ song eber I heerd,” she snick- 
ered. 

‘‘En hit don’t ’pear lak hit’s oncommon 
sensible, nudder, ’ ’ commented Uncle Isaac. 

“Wall, I ’c’lar ter goodness,” protested 
Abraham, “I ain’t ’sponsible fer whedder 
dat song got sense, er whedder hit ain’t 
got sense. I des gibin’ you all w’at I see 
en hyar, en dat’s all I got ter do wid hit.” 

“G’wan wid yer relationment, Ab-ram 
Linco’n,” commanded Brother Simmons, 
“en don’t git ser almighty proud en big- 


HIS BOOK 


87 


gity ’long er yon bein’ two monts in At- 
lanta. Some folks could ’bide fo’ y’ars 
in dat place, en not ’quire de compunctious- 
ness w’at you is got a ’ready.” 

Abraham resumed his narrative in a 
plainly aggrieved manner. ‘ ‘ . ’Pears lak I 
dunno wbedder I’m tellin’ ’bout dis byar, 
er wbedder you all’er tellin’ bit,” be con- 
tinued after a long pause, ‘^but nex’ thing 
I know, de folks w’at sot nigb me, ’gun ter 
let out some back talk ’bout dat same lone- 
someness. One ob um ’low be dunno w’at 
dey gwine ter do ’bout dis teddy b’ar biz’- 
ness, nobow. Hyar we done ’lected a new 
Presingdent ob dis glor’ous Uniting States, 
w’at ain’t name’ Teddy, en be ’low w’en 
Mister Roosingvelt go out, dat Mister Taf ’ 
ain’t gwine want no teddy b’ars layin’ 
’roun’ dis country so promts ’cous. Den de 
yudder man up en ’spon’ dat de nex’ thing 
dey does, dey gotter rig up some kinder 
Taf’ an’mul, en gun him de name, ‘Bill,’ 
but I ain’t nary ’spicion w’at kinder critter 
hit gwine ter be.” 

Here Abraham paused, and after care- 
fully mopping bis heated brow with a 
large scarlet bordered handkerchief, al- 


88 


BILL FOSSVM 


lowed his gaze to wander from face to face 
with the expression of a man who could 
make more intimate revelations if he 
would. 

^^Is dat all you gwine ter tell usV’ de- 
manded Uncle Isaac, athirst for further 
information. 

^^DaUs erbout all er de play actin’ w’at 
ain’t slip’ ma ’membunce,” returned Abra- 
ham, ‘‘hut atter while I sorter nose eroun’ 
on I done c’llected some pol’tics, but w’at 
I dunno yit is how come a Dem’crat’ city 
ter be ’lectin’ oh er ’Publican Presing- 
dent. ’ ’ 

“G’wan wid yer, nigger! Dat Dem’crat’ 
city ain’t had nuth’n’ ter do wid hit,” 
scoffed Uncle Isaac. 

“Huh! I des been dar, I reck’n,” in- 
sisted Abraham, “en Atlanta done fix dat 
whole biz ’ness herse’f. How I know dat, 
you gwine ax? I know hit kaze de ve’y 
minute dat Mister, Taf’ ’skiver’ hisse’f 
’lected, he des lit right out en made tracks 
fer dis hyar town. Dat’s how I knows 
w’at I done tol’ you! Who-ee, I knows 
more’n dat, too. He ain’t got dar yit, but 
de white folks des er layin’ fer him w’en 


EIS BOOK 


89 


he does Ian’ dar, en dey gwine hab de 
beatenes’ kyar’ns on eber I beerd ob.” 

‘‘Whnt dey gwine ter do ter dat big 
white man?” demanded Uncle Isaac 
curiously. 

‘‘Dey gwine gib him a kinder blowout, 
w’at you gits up in secb farin’ burry, dat 
you des’gnates bit ez a bang-quick,” re- 
sponded Abraham knowingly, ‘ ‘ en yit, ’ ’ be 
continued, modulating bis voice to a tone 
that suggested an important confidence; 
‘ ‘ en yit I done beerd a cullud pusson at dat 
dar Piedmount hotel ’low dat bit warn’t 
gwine be nutb’n’ but des a good ol’ possum 
dinner, wid ’simmon beer en ’taters. En 
be say dat a white genterman, name’ Mis- 
ter Can’ler, done plan ter fix bit up des dat 
way. ’ ’ 

“Huh! dat’s a moughty cur’ous kinder 
doin’s for a Presingdent, ” commented one 
of the negroes. 

“I ’lowed dey’d des feed him wid dese 
byar li’l c’nary bu’ds,” volunteered an- 
other. 

“En dat ain’t all,” resumed Abraham 
after an impressive pause, and ignoring 
the comments ; ‘ ‘ dey wants erbout a bund- 


90 


BILL POSSVM 


’ed possums I reckon, en dey wants um 
quick, en I done come home ter cotch um^s 
fas’s I kin, — dat’s why I come/^ 

‘‘You ain’t aimin’ ter cotch a whole 
hund’ed, is you?” demanded Uncle Isaac, 
stretching his eyes in amazement. 

“Um — naw, I ain’t count on dat,” ad- 
mitted Abraham reluctantly; “dey ain’t 
’spectin’ me ter do dat, but I aims ter do de 
bes’ I Mn, en w’at’s mo’, I gwine ter let 
you all he’p me,” he ended with manifest 
condescension. 

The company laughed somewhat deris- 
ively, yet promptly fell to discussing ways 
and means by which they might secure the 
largest number of choice possums in the 
most incredibly brief space, and before 
they dispersed, a possum hunt on an am- 
bitious scale, had been planned for the 
same evening. 

Uncle Isaac, left alone, nursed his ailing 
joints, and reflected. “I gwine erlong 
spite er de worl’,” he muttered; “I gwine 
ter git ter dat possum hunt ef hit’s de las’ 
ac’!” 

And rocking back and forth, the old man 
crooned in philosophical strain: — 


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91 


Goodby, Mister Ha^d Times, ^long wid Mister Sorrer, 
Ain ^t got nuth ’ f er ter len en nuth ’n ^ f er ter 
borrer. 

Whut dat, Mister Ha’d Times? ’Lows you’ll come 
tomorrer, 

Bringin’ ’long bofe want en woe, 

Ef don’t nuth’n’ hinder? 

W’en you fotch up at de do’. 

I’ll clam’ out de winder. 


92 


BILL POSSUM 



CHAPTER VII. 

How Uncle Isaac Made Fkiends With 
Grande ATHEE Possum. 

Possum clam’ de ’simmon tree, 

Grinnin’ fit ter kill; 

Sump’n lam ’im side de haid, 

En out de tree he spill. 

Nigger caddy come erlong, 

Lookin’ fer de ball, 

En fin’ dat possum layin’ dar, 

Zackly whar he fall. 


ms BOOK 


93 


(Possum meat fer bobbecue, 
Taters on de side; 

Talk erbout dat game er golf — 
Bes’ you eber tried) 


On the morning following the record 
breaking possum hunt on which Abraham 
led all the negroes of the vicinity, Uncle 
Isaac, to quote his own words, found him- 
self ^pow’ful bad off, en gittin’ wuss,’^ yet 
‘^Miss Ellen had sent for him in haste, to 
come to the ‘^big house’’ and help with 
extra chores, for a number of guests were 
expected on an early train for a week end 
house party. Now disobedience to ‘‘Miss 
Ellen’s” requests was a form of treason 
which the old man had never yet contem- 
plated for a moment, so stiff and grumb- 
ling, he appeared in the Marshall’s kitchen, 
awaiting orders. 

“Miss Ellen” herself fluttered in, array- 
ed in one of the “wroppers,” which sug- 
gested to Uncle Isaac’s mind that the 
“company” was not immediately due after 
all. 

“They’ve all gone perfectly crazy on the 
subject of golf,” she explained with a 
sigh;” as a result of President-elect Taft’s 


94 


BILL POSSVM 


fondness for the game, and Mr. MarshalPs 
nephew (Richard’s grown brother) has 
asked permission to bring a party of 
friends up for a few days, to play. He 
thinks the links near here are especially 
fine. Then I shouldn’t much wonder if 
they wind up with a possum hunt, due to 
the sudden notoriety of our friend, the 
chicken stealer, and all his tribe.” 

Uncle Isaac scratched his head reflect- 
ively. knows dat young genterman 

moughty well, ’ ’ he responded. ‘ ‘ You ain ’t 
disremember how de Kunnel en me he ’p git 
up a possum hunt fer him, erhout ten y’ars 
ago in Atlanta, is you. Miss Ellen?” And 
the old man indulged in something be- 
tween a wheeze and a chuckle. 

recall the occasion very well,” re- 
turned the lady; ‘‘William has always been 
a great favorite with Mr. Marshall, and 
now he’s coming with a party of grown up 
boys and girls, among whom is a little 
sweetheart from New England. She is on 
her first visit south, and for this reason I 
am anxious for everything to be as typical 
as possible of the old Southern regime, so 
of course, Isaac, no one but yourself must 


HIS BOOK 


95 


wait on the table. A young darkey with 
the ways and manners of the new order 
would spoil it all.^’ 

Uncle Isaac managed to achieve an old- 
fashioned bow in spite of his stiffness, and 
his black face beamed. ‘‘I thank ee, Miss 
Ellen, I thank ee, honey, he said with 
genuine emotion. ‘ ^ I got de mis ’ry in dese 
oP jhnts pow^ful bad, but I’ll be proud ter 
sarve Mister Will’m en de young miss, — I 
will dat.” 

The day proved one of the most eventful 
the old negro had ever experienced. The 
young folks, rejoicing in the brilliant sun- 
shine of a mild Southern winter, swarmed 
over the old place like happy bees, and 
under Uncle Isaac’s escort, inspected the 
gardens and orchards, before setting off 
for the golf course. 

When they started at last. Uncle Isaac 
returned to his duties indoors, and the 
young people were accompanied by Eichard 
and the pickaninny Rastus, both of whom 
were to act as caddies; the latter jubilant 
in the prospect of a whole quarter as the 
result of an afternoon of by no means 
strenuous toil. 


96 


BILL POSSUM 


For several of the participants, the af- 
ternoon was a memorable one. The ob- 
servant Rastus could not fail to notice that 
^‘Mister WilPm^’ in spite of his professed 
devotion to the game, was playing badly, 
due as the pickaninny was shrewdly aware, 
to a desire not to get too far away from the 
young lady from New England. 

The rest of what happened might be 
more graphically expressed in the language 
used by the little darkey himself, when he 
told it afterwards to Mose Freeman whom 
he met in the big road on the way home. 

^‘Hit look lak dat young white lady gits 
tuckered out in no time, ’ ’ he declared ; ‘ ‘ al- 
ter her en Mister WilPm done lam dey li’l 
balls eroun^ in des erbout haT dem dar li’l 
holes, which I ain’t see does no good no- 
how, dey ’low dey so wo’ out twel dey 
gwine ter set down dar on de hillside en 
res’ deyse’ves, en Mister Will’m, he sez, 
sez he ; ‘ Hyar, Rastus, you take keer er all 
dese hyar go’f sticks, en tote um on back 
ter de house, but fust, you des tak’n hump 
yo’se’f ’crost dat ditch en fin’ Miss 
Pa’ker’s ball, w’at she los’.’ 

‘‘Alter dat I ain’t see Mister Will’m en 


HIS BOOK 


97 


de young white lady no mo\ I lit out 
^crost de ditch he done phnt out, en w^at I 
see nex’ I des ^low ain’t re’ly dar. I 
reck’n I des walkin’ eroun’ ersleep, en 
habin’ a good dream, kaze ’long un’erneaf 
de tree lay de li’l ball, en ’longside er dat 
li’l ball hit ’pear lak wuz de fattes’ ol’ pos- 
sum I eber see. Now am dis a re ’1 possum, 
I ax you, — er am hit des a dream pos- 
sum?” he ended anxiously. 

And the little pickaninny held up for 
Mose’s inspection, a fat and well grown 
specimen, whose genuineness was beyond 
argument. 

^^Dat sho’ is de squares’ thing I eber 
year,” declared Mose, carefully examining 
the animal, which was still warm, and had 
evidently come to its untimely end less 
than an hour before. ’low you gwine 
ter sen’ dis ter Atlanta, ’long er Ab’ram 
Linco’n, ain’t you?” 

Rastus looked so overcome at the sugges- 
tion that it was evident such a thought had 
not occurred to him. Snatching the ani- 
mal out of Mose’s hands, he hugged it up 
tightly in his little skinny arms, while a 
sort of gray pallor, indicative of strong 


98 


BILL POSSUM 


emotion, crept over his expressive black 
face. ‘‘Is you think dat Mister Presing- 
dent Taf^ gwine want ma possum P’ he de- 
manded wistfully; “ain’t he gwine ter hab 
’nutf possums his own se’f, widout mine?” 

Before Mose had an opportunity to re- 
ply, they were joined by Uncle Isaac, who 
came limping across the fields from the 
direction of the “big house.” “Miss El- 
len got ser much comp’ny,” he explained, 
‘ ‘ de house des plum runnin ’ ober wid folks, 
en she done sent me atter Betsey, kaze she 
des bleedje ter hab some mo’ he’p. Whar 
you git dat possum, Rastus Simmons f I 
’c’lar hit des look lak hit’s rainin’ possums 
dese days! Whut wid de niggers huntin’ 
um all night, en all de white folks ober ter 
Miss Ellen’s er talkin’ erbout um twel you 
can’t res’.” 

“W’at de white folks been sayin’!” de- 
manded Mose. 

Uncle Isaac sighed. “I ain’t got time 
ter stan’ year all night,” he replied, “en 
dat’s erbout how long hit ud tek ter tell hit. 
Dey ’low dat eve’ybody’s done gone plum 
foolish ober dis hyar visit er de new pres- 
ingdent’s, en dey ain’t know how ter do 


HIS BOOK 


99 


’nuff ter mek him ’joy hisse’f. Whut wid 
bang-quicks en deceptions, en one thing en 
ernudder, dey gwine keep him hustlin’ 
eroun’ so fas’ atter he gits ter Atlanta to- 
morrer, dat I skeered dat white genterman 
gwine ter be clean wo’ out. Lawsy gra- 
cious, I done heerd ser much twel ma ol’ 
haid is got plum flusteredw id hit! One 
young Miss sez kinder sorrerful, sez she; 
’Po’ li’l Teddy B’ar, you ain’t gwine ter 
hah nobody ter lub you; eye’ybody gwine 
ter set dey ’fections on Mister Bill Pos- 
sum, whut done tuck yo’ place!” 

At this moment there was a rattling of 

At this moment there was a creaking 
of wagon wheels, and down the road in 
triumph drove Abraham Lincoln Perkins, 
with his contribution to the banquet in 
honor of the President-elect. Seated in 
an ox-cart of such antiquity that the prob- 
ability of its weathering the trip to At- 
lanta seemed questionable, and entirely 
unaware of the incongruity of his newly 
acquired ^‘city clothes,” Abraham, if not 
the monarch of all he surveyed, felt no less 
important, and doubtless ’much happier, 
than such a personage. For was he not 


100 


BILL POSSVM 


bound for the ^‘new Presingdent’s’^ ban- 
quet, and was not his creaking ox-cart filled 
wit hthe most delectable of Georgia com- 
modities? 

‘‘How come you settin^ out dis time er 
day?’^ demanded Uncle Isaac, allowing his 
gaze to travel wistfully over the precious 
collection of fat possums. 

Abraham attempted, with indifferent 
success, not to look too self-important. ‘ ‘ I 
aim ter giUs fer^s de nex’ town bey on’ 
Norcross, en res’ dar twel daybreak, den I 
got er easy jou’ney fum dar on, termor- 
rer. ’ ’ 

“Is you gwine ter ax de Presingdent fer 
a job?” inquired Mose, with a grin; “I 
reck’n you’ll be trab’lin’ right erlong up 
ter Wash’nton fus’ thing us know!” 

“Mebbe I gwine ax ’im fer a job en 
mebbe I ain’t; dat ma bizness,” and whip- 
ping up the oxen, Abraham started on at 
a somewhat brisker pace. 

With a queer little cry, Eastus sprang 
after him, and thrust his own possum into 
the back of the ox-cart. “Des kyar dat er- 
long ter Mister Presingdent Taf’, too,” he 
said with a suspicion of chokiness, “en — 


HIS BOOK 


101 


en ax ’im des ter please sir think erbout 
dis hyar li^l black nigger w’en he go fer 
ter eat hit!’’ 

De poodle dawg done had ’is day, 

Lakwise de teddy b’ar, 

En eve’y place dey use ter be, 

De possum’s settin’ dar. 

Dey lied de poodle wid er chain, 

En kyar’d ’im all eroun’, 

But eve’y place he use ter go, 

De possum now am foun’. 

Now atter while dey tu’ned aroun’, 

En lubbed de teddy b ’ar, 

But ’tain ’t no use ter look fer ’im, 

Kaze he no longer dar. 

But eve’y whar he use ter be, — 

In books en pictures, too. 

You’ll fin’ des sho’ en sart’n, dat 
Bill Possum grins at you. 

When dusk had settled over the golf 
links and driven the players home again, 
Grandfather Possum ventured cautiously 
down from the hollow tree, where he had 
been watching the game, and near which 
Miss Parker’s ball in its erratic course, 
had struck one of his acquaintances. 

Rastus, in his excitement over the dis- 


102 


BILL POSSUM 


covery of the possum, had run away leav- 
ing ^‘Mister WilPm’s’’ golf sticks exactly 
where he had dropped them, and it was to- 
wards these curious objects that Grand- 
father Possum made his thoughtful way, 
talking to himself as he went, for he was 
quite alone, the youngest grandchild and 
the rest of the family being in hiding in the 
depths of the woods. To be accurate, all 
of them who were still alive and at liberty, 
were in hiding, for it must he confessed 
that several of Grandfather Possum’s 
nearest and dearest were at that moment 
on their way to Atlanta, in Abraham’s ox 
cart, and he himself had been in imminent 
danger of capture again, adding one more 
to his long list of hazardous adventures. 

Grandfather Possum subjected the bag 
of golf sticks to a curious and thorough 
examination. At first he had hoped that 
they would prove edible, but a gingerly 
taste of one corner of the bag having con- 
vinced him to the contrary, he set about ex- 
perimenting with the sticks themselves in 
the somewhat faint hope of discovering 
some possible usefulness. 

‘^Hit ’pears lak ter me,” he reflected. 


HIS BOOK 


103 


‘‘dat dey ain’t nnth’n mo’ den some new 
kinder biz ’ness dey done fix’ up ter kill 
possums wid, en all dese white folks I done 
set hyar en watch, ain’t hed nuth’n better 
ter do, den ter practise up er slingin’ dese 
hyar roun’ white rocks all day, so’s dey kin 
do all de debbilment dat cornin’. Dat’s des 
w’at hit look lak.” 

Now it was just about this time that Ras- 
tus, who had suddenly remembered ^‘Mis- 
ter Will’m’s” injunction regarding the 
golf sticks, and his own carelessness in 
leaving them on the links, reappeared in 
search of them, followed by Uncle Isaac, 
whom he had persuaded to come a little out 
of his own way to keep him company. 

Just before reaching the exact spot 
where he had left the sticks, Rastus stop- 
ped short and gasped. Surely he must be 
seeing double, or was the sky simply rain- 
ing possums? ‘‘Unc’ Isaac,” he whisper- 
ed huskily, clutching the old man by the 
arm, ^‘is you see sump’n?” 

Uncle Isaac shook off the pickaninny’s 
clinging fingers, and peered forward 
through the shadows. “ Gawdermussy, 
hit’s dat ol’ peg laig possum, out hyar on 


104 


BILL POSSVM 


de go’f links des er playin’ erway all by 
bisse’f ! I ’c’lar ter gracious ef dat an’mul 
ain’t got sech er oncommon sight er onder- 
standin’ twel hit ain’t natchel. Hit ain’t 
dat!” 

At this moment Grandfather Possum, 
who had his back to the intruders, turned 
slowly around, and he and the old man 
looked each other full in the face. 

Uncle Isaac, overcome with superstitious 
fear, fell, quaking and trembling, on his 
knees. ain’t gwine hu’t you,” he cried 
earnestly, ‘‘’fo’ de Lawd, I ain’t gwine 
tech hide ner h’ar er you; I ain’t dat. De 
Lawd’s tuck keer er you dis fer, en fum 
now on dis ol’ nigger ’lows he’s gwine he’p 
’im do hit, he is dat. Come on, Eastus,” 
he added in a somewhat changed tone of 
voice; ‘‘git dem go’f sticks, en less g’wan 
erbout our biz ’ness. I ’c’lar, ef any er 
dese hyar possums desarves de name er de 
new Presingdent, hit’s dis year oncommon 
sens’ble peg laig one, en fum now on I 
ain’t gwine call ’im peg laig no mo’, — I 
’low I’m gwine des’gnate ’im ez Mister Bill 
Possum ob Georgia!” 


THE END. 



































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